Fazer Nao Zanga Os Deuses
by Ruth Piwonka
Summary: The 9th Departure Episode 2. Is Scully leaving the XFiles? Will Mulder and Scully ever find William? Will Scully ever accept Mulder as more than a partner? The continuation of No Yellow Pencils Pretender xover.
1. Chapter 1

"Fazer Nao Zanga Os Deuses"

Chapter One

325 Kingston St, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 21st, 2001, 8:47 p.m.

As usual, Dilvo's was packed from wall to wall with bodies. It had been open for less than half an hour, but there were still customers waiting to get in from the outside. Theodore O'Shaungnessy could not understand why they waited. All he wanted was a drink; well, maybe quite a few.

Real estate business was slouching like a bored teenager, and his wife was turning into a nagging hag. All she wanted to do was talk about their last credit card bill or ask him why they should continue to have cable if neither of them were home to watch it.

This club was on his way home from the office, and O'Shaungnessy had the good fortune to snag a decent parking spot a block away as well as get himself inside without any trouble. It had actually been about twenty years since he'd even set foot in a nightclub, and back then, they were still called 'discotheques'. The only things that had changed were the clothes and music. Bodies still mingled together with the scent of human perspiration, and drugs were still being passed all over the dance floor.

The thumping bass pounding out of the P.A. system made his ears hurt, but everyone else on the dance floor seemed to be entranced by it. In fact, they loved it. The current song was slow and sultry; it almost made him feel like he was part of a giant orgy in a porno flick. Not that he minded it of course. Most of the young ladies were very hot and would definitely be open to a mature gentleman waiting with a drink at the bar for them instead of waiting for a promise of one from a younger and inexperienced youth.

O'Shaungnessy downed his third sour apple martini, ordered a fourth from the bar, and added another ice cube to his accompanying drink. Now the music didn't bother him as much, and soon, he might join the swarming mass of human flesh on the dance floor. None of the girls at the bar seemed to be too interested in him, so he threw back another martini and carried the margarita on the rocks with him to join the crowd. It was pointless to try and start a meaningful conversation, so he just hugged the drink closer to his chest and felt the ice practically melt in his hands.

Another drug deal occurred right before his eyes; it was probably X. Users that consumed it regularly claimed that it was the ultimate 'love drug' and made them feel happier when they made love. O'Shaungnessy knew that that message was a falsehood; Ecstasy actually slowed everything down--it was a euphoric drug, but it actually was a depressant, not an upper. But unfortunately, people still used it despite the lie.

Suddenly, the music changed completely from a mellow, sensuous beat to a song with high energy and a frantic siren that pulsed once too often. It was almost as if the DJ had just taken some mind altering drug himself. And O'Shaungnessy felt himself become one with his fellow dancers. Just as he felt the brush of a younger woman's hips against himself, something stung him in the ear. He turned around clumsily to look at his assailant but found no one armed still standing there.

Something did not feel quite right, and he accidentally spilled most of the margarita onto his shirt. "Damn," he spat and backed out of the pool of bodies.

A man with ebony hair streaked with flecks of gray and blue eyes grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around roughly. "Have too much to drink?" he sneered.

The action winded O'Shaungnessy enough to drop the margarita glass entirely to the floor, and he clumsily bent down to try and pick up the broken pieces. His assailant seized O'Shaungnessy by the shirt and hauled him out of the club.

"What the..." O'Shaungnessy muttered drunkenly as his eyes adjusted to the harsh streetlights outside. "Hey, where're we goin'?"

The man did not answer him; instead, he shoved O'Shaungnessy into the back of a 1988 Jeep and shut the door. "I don't wanna go nowhere! Let me out!" he slurred. He regained some control of himself and tried to locate the door handle, but unfortunately, he was not agile enough yet to open it. "Let me out!"

Dr. Bartholomew Ward grunted with frustration as he watched his intoxicated captive try to fight his way out of the Jeep. The thought had been rather amusing at first, but now, he was beginning to sober up. He frowned after gazing again at a neighborhood bank's digital clock. The time now read 9:09. Kovach needed to move things along quickly if they were to commence the testing on time.

But Kovach emerged from Dilvo carrying a young woman in a fireman's carry a few minutes later. _She is almost unconscious_, Ward noted.

"That might complicate our procedure," he told Kovach aloud and pointed to the girl.

"She's not dead," Kovach countered. "I took her vitals."

"Our assignment requires live patients."

"Yes, but I did not want to attract any attention to myself. You, however," Kovach signaled with his head over to his car, "might just do that soon."

O'Shaungnessy had now found the door handle and began to pump it madly back and forth. Ward shot Kovach an impassive glance and shrugged. "Too drunk to figure out that it's locked. Shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Kovach agreed and stowed the woman in the back seat.

Twenty minutes later...

The two men heaved the bodies into Kovach's apartment. The woman, Vanessa Walsh, remained complacent and serene throughout the whole ordeal. Unfortunately, O'Shaungnessy was giving Ward much more trouble than he anticipated. The apple martinis were wearing off, and he refused to sit down voluntarily in a kitchen chair beside Walsh.

"I will resort to unpleasant methods should you continue your course of actions," Ward admonished O'Shaungnessy, who growled and snarled at him without hesitancy.

O'Shaungnessy lunged himself straight at Ward and was met with the unexpectedness of the ex-coroner's dodge. He swiftly pivoted himself to the left and let the drunk ineptly fall flat on his face. Ward then grabbed one of the man's arms, twisted it unnaturally behind his back, and started to lift the forearm up towards his shoulders.

Just as O'Shaungnessy began to grunt, Ward placed his other hand on the shoulder to ready himself, and proceeded to break his arm. O'Shaugnessy's cry of pain caused Kovach to pause from his chores and turn around to witness the spectacle. "You will cooperate now," Ward commanded his captive, who now cowered in mortal fear below him.

"Sit in that chair and be still," Ward continued.

O'Shaungnessy slowly arose and did as he was told while nursing his freshly broken limb. Kovach made eye contact with Ward, who nodded. "It is time."

The deputy coroner removed a tray from his refrigerator that a test tube rack rested upon, and Ward donned a pair of latex white gloves.

"What's happening?" O'Shaungnessy inquired.

He was answered with silence as Kovach removed some of the chemical from one of the test tubes and placed it into a syringe. He then handed the needle to Ward and left the living room. "What is that shit?" he asked as Ward traveled behind him.

"This is a cardiotonic steroid--it is used in modern medical science nowadays to correct a patient's erratic heart rate," Ward replied and parted some of O'Shaungnessy's hair down the middle.

"There's nothin' wrong with me. I don't have heart problems."

"I didn't say that that was what I was treating, did I?" He peered at the greenish liquid inside of the syringe and inserted it onto the man's scalp.

"What the hell...are you..." O'Shaungnessy clambered out of his chair and fell to the floor again.

Ward simply stepped over his writhing body and collected some more liquid from another test tube. In the bathroom, Kovach turned on the bathtub faucet.

The ex-coroner performed the same procedure on Walsh, who was starting to stir to some form of consciousness. As this new drug hit her, her head lolled to one side, and she became comatose once more.

Five minutes later, Kovach came back with a stiletto syringe then jabbed it into O'Shaungnessy's ribs. He showed it to Ward after examining it himself. "There's been no change to the purity's cell structure," he concluded.

"Test the woman as well," Ward ordered, and Kovach did so, but this time, he did not stab her. He carefully inserted it into her ear and withdrew it a few seconds later. The deputy coroner shook his head and gave the needle to his former superior.

"We have failed, Dr. Ward," he admitted. "Should we go with the contingency plan?"

"That is our path," Ward agreed. "The woman should be first. There will be more blood and less time to eradicate our presence later. Assist me, Dr. Kovach."

Together, they lifted Walsh's lifeless body from the ground, undressed her, and slid her naked form into the bathtub. Ward unsheathed the stiletto from its hidden place inside the syringe's chamber, lifted the woman's chin, and pierced it perfectly in the jugular vein.

Walsh's blood spurted out spasmodically onto Ward's gloves at first, but then Ward reached into the water and shoved her down farther. He reached around the other side of Walsh's neck and felt for a pulse. It was strong as he had hoped. The doctor stood from his kneeling spot and removed the gloves.

"Given her blood pressure rate, she'll perish within the hour. Start your preparation on the man." Ward left the gloves on the bathtub ledge and left the bathroom.

"Where're you going?" Kovach questioned him.

"I require nutrition--what's in the fridge?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Indianapolis International Airport, Indianapolis, IN

April 24th, 2001, 5:18 p.m.

"Mulder, will you please stop pacing back and forth? I'm trying to finish up these field notes," Scully lamented. She looked up from her laptop at him impatiently.

"How can you even work on those?" he spat and ran a jittery hand through his hair. "Our son has been taken from us, and-"

"I need to work. You know it's the only thing I can put my back up against at times like this," she returned quietly and saved her document before shutting the computer's screen.

"Scully, please. I'm not expecting you to fall into my arms crying your eyes out for hours, but could you leave work alone?"

_Oh, how times have changed_, she thought to herself.

"One of Kersh's stipulations for me to remain out in the field was that I supply him with reports. I'm really surprised that he approved of my working out here alone and on a conspiracy case."

"Maybe he knew how little you'd truly get done."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing bad--just that maybe he knew about Will being kidnapped. Agent Doggett does have his suspicions about the Deputy Director's loyalties, and for once, I think his premonitions are probably right on target."

"Why do you always have to warp everything into the conspiracy theory?"

"Come again?"

"Practically everything everyone in the FBI says or does has to do with you, aliens, or a covert agenda. There are some people there that actually do their jobs every now and then," Scully miffed. "It bothers me that you always think someone's out to get you. Well, they're not--you don't work there any longer, so you can't hurt them."

"But they can still hurt you, and you're in my life. My son is gone...oh God..." Mulder began to chew on his lip in thought. "Scully, what if they take him away like they took Samantha? What if we never see him again?"

"At least you saw him yesterday." Her anger was swelling, and it took all of her inner strength not to lash out at him. She was almost about to continue, but her cell phone interrupted their argument. "Scully."

"Dana, this is Jarod. I was wondering if you'd be able to come down to my office and the morgue to venture forth some of your opinions."

"Is this regarding Campbell's exsanguination?"

"Yes, and well...the body count just rose. Detective Cooper's dead, and so are the police officers that were with him in Dr. Kovach's apartment."

"What! They're dead!" Her face wrinkled with confusion, and Mulder sat down next to her. She covered the phone's microphone with her hand and mouthed the word 'Cooper' to him.

"Mmhmm, that's right. They were killed in an explosion. Thankfully, it was in an apartment complex, so the fire department got there quickly thanks to a 911 call. I'm on my way to the scene of the crime right now. Where are you?"

"Right now, I'm in Indianapolis International Airport. My son was kidnapped, and I'm afraid I'll have to withdraw myself from this case...at least temporarily."

"I understand. By all means, go home," Jarod said empathetically. "I was hoping to put an end to this twisted mystery soon with your help, but nothing is more important than family."

"I...um...I'm sorry to hear about Cooper. He was a very nice young man," Scully commented.

"He was a conscientious investigator, and I'm finding out those are more rare than Siberian tigers nowadays."

"Oh, were you an animal trainer, too?"

"Uh, no, but I...uh..." his voice became nervous.

"Jarod, I don't completely understand who and what you are. As I'm sure you aware, it is illegal to jump in and out of professional careers without the proper credentials and education. I'm still not sure if I entirely believe that you're able to do such a thing."

"Just know that I'm endeavoring just like you to bring the truth to light," he cleared his throat.

"Indeed you are, which is why I'm keeping my mouth shut and pursuing other matters of greater importance. If you truly can do what Mulder suggests you can do, that's...phenomenal. You're practically a breakthrough in science."

"Dana, I have a few acquaintances in the FBI. They might be able to assist you if you'd like. They're located in the Atlanta Regional Bureau."

"Um, thank you, Jarod, but no. I've already been informed that the Bureau in D.C. will be very much involved on the case. And I must get back there as soon as I possibly can. My mother will probably be tearing herself apart," her voice faltered as she held back some tears.

"Might I ask if you have any suspects?"

"I...um...have some premonitions and suspicions, but they're fairly poor ones."

"Please tell me."

"Look, that's very kind of you to be concerned, Jarod, but you don't need to worry about it," Scully rebuked him.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen. Flight 105 non-stop from Indianapolis International to Washington, D.C. Dulles' International will begin pre-boarding in five minutes. Thank you for choosing to fly with us," a service attendant announced into the speaker system.

"You were kind enough to help me. Now let me return the favor," Jarod remarked.

"I've got to get going with Mulder."

"Just a name. It's all I'll need. I promise, if I learn anything, I'll send the information straight to the FBI."

"All right," Scully soughed and opened her laptop case up. "One of the members of the Consortium had ties with the Department of Defense. That's all I can remember right this second. I've got to go."

She hung up tersely and turned the phone off without saying goodbye.

Brooksgate Apartments, Indianapolis, Indiana

April 24th, 2001, 5:49 p.m.

The crime scene was chaotic. With all the answers modern science had to offer, the crime scene investigation team was littered all around the duplex still flagging items to be checked. No one seemed to be leading the investigation; three police officers were rushing around the apartment complex knocking on doors and asking questions.

Jarod parked the Marion county SUV across from the exploded apartment building and removed his own crime scene kit tackle box from the trunk. He also donned his spring jacket with the identifying word 'coroner' stitched on the back of it so that he would not be disturbed in his work. "Pardon me," he tapped one CSI on the back. She turned and gave him a withered expression.

"Oh, it's you. Farkas, the Chief Coroner's here," she raised her voice and went back to her job.

A black man about six one with blue eyes and a goatee made his way toward Jarod and signaled for him to come over to one of the dead police officers. "Farkas is my name. You must be the Chief that's been making these extraordinary discoveries all over town."

"How do you do? My name is Jarod," Verne extended his hand toward Farkas, who gladly accepted it. "Yes, well, I seemed to have uncovered a lot of strange things occurring around here. And from what I see here, I'm going to have to be very cautious about my work as well."

"What do you make of all this?"

Jarod bent down and examined a few pieces of rubble surrounding the body with his eyes. He put on his prophylactic gloves and lifted a charred piece of drywall to study it closer. "Hmm...I'm not on the bomb squad today, so I can't expound too much further on this theory..."

"What're you hypothesizing, Dr. Verne?"

"This explosion was pre-meditated and executed nearly as flawlessly as a military operation. Cooper and his other officers were lured inside into a false sense of security and then eliminated before they could discover any more evidence against Dr. Kovach."

"Yeah, well, I must say that whoever these people are, they sure are keeping my teams busy during the day and night. You remember that drug dealer, what was his name..." Farkas scratched the back of his head, "uh...Campbell?"

"Very well. He was murdered by a nine year old girl."

"Say what?"

"You didn't see the surveillance video, then."

"No, I didn't. Like I said, we've been collecting evidence and analyzing it as fast as we possibly can, but I tell ya, we're startin' ta get backed up. You get me?"

Jarod nodded in understanding and tossed the piece of drywall down haplessly. He then set his tackle box down next to the body and removed a few neatly folded yellow body bags. "Please, go on, Farkas."

"Here, lemme give you a hand." Farkas helped Jarod fit the first body into the bag and carry the police officer back to the Ford Expedition marked "Marion County Coroner".

"Now, you're tellin' me that some girl stabbed this crook in the neck and bled him to death? How's that possible? We found trace evidence of some long hair on the bed that didn't belong to Campbell," Farkas continued.

"Well," Jarod paused as he opened the back door, "umph, okay, let's get him as close to the backseat as possible. Good. First of all, she didn't kill him with one stab wound. She missed his jugular the first time--she only nicked a few muscles around it. The second piercing was correct; she hit her mark while they were struggling on his bed."

"I don't understand, unless she was really small and young." He pursued Jarod as they returned to the refuse for the next corpse. As Jarod began to fit the next body into another bag, Farkas snapped his fingers. "She must have been...she could've fit through those bars and finished him off. We didn't find any latent fingerprints on the body."

"I estimate her age to be about eight or nine from what I saw. She signed in to see Campbell under the guise of being his daughter," Verne stated. "But she clearly made contact with him in their struggle on the bed. You're telling me that you didn't find any fingerprints on his body? I observed her grabbing his hand, rather forcefully, I might add, and then giving him the fatal stab."

"We found none, but...I do know that the oils secreted or left behind in latent finger or footprints do not develop fully until a child reaches the age of approximately twelve. I think it happens in one of the earlier stages of puberty." They heaved the second police officer back to the Expedition. "That would probably explain it all."

"She knew that. She looked back up at the camera and waived to it like she was playing some game and having the time of her life. Then she stuck her hands in her coat pockets and walked out of the jail like nothing was wrong," Jarod realized. "Nobody would have realized anything was wrong because they figure that she's just some little girl. Amazing."

"How in the hell would a kid know how to...I mean, kids know a lot more about violence these days, but..." Farkas trailed off as they went back for Detective Cooper's body.

"I don't know. Do you have any idea of who will be taking over the investigation now?"

"There's been some talk about the head of homicide, Simon Webb, overseeing it, but I'm not sure because I've been out of the precinct all day."

"The people causing this chaos seem to be one or two steps ahead of us. I would suggest backing off for a little while and letting them move first for once."

"Why? Someone's got to pay for these crimes. Dr. Kovach is definitely a high suspect, as well as the former chief coroner, Dr. Ward. That reminds me to go back to the lab and start that analysis of those shoes the FBI agent brought me. Where is she, by the way? I'd think she'd want to be out here with us."

"Yes, well...she had to go back to Washington rather unexpectedly. Agent Scully had a family emergency to attend," Jarod declared as they lifted the last body into his SUV.

"I'm sorry to hear about that. I heard that she was really nice."

"Yes, she was. Now, what I meant about the investigation was that I think that there's an insider here, in the police department."

"What? Who?"

"That's up to the department to find out. But someone who's been working with Cooper gave Kovach or someone else information that was only privy to law enforcement officials. I believe that that's how these people have been keeping themselves slightly ahead of us. There's got to be a dirty rat informing them of our actions."

"I'll keep that info in mind. Will you need help getting those bodies out?" Farkas inquired as Jarod shut the back door.

"No, I'll have my assistant give me a hand. Thanks, though."

After Jarod returned to the eastern morgue, he had Carlos unload the corpses from the SUV and adjourned to his office. His desk was littered with manila files just as he'd left them. Verne slid the ink blotter up slightly high enough to reach the two folders underneath it and placed them on top of the rest of the mess. Although he had a few locking file cabinets, he discovered that they could be picked in five minutes with a very minimal effort using a paper clip. Right now, he trusted no one at the morgue.

"Dr. Verne?" Carlos called him from his open door.

"Yes?"

"Whom would you like to examine first?"

"That won't be necessary, Carlos. Just refrigerate them for now. I'll examine them later, and you can go home for the day," Jarod said.

"Yes, Dr. Verne. Good night."

Jarod took out a pen from his left handed drawer, sat down, and started to sketch out an object. During his childhood to wile away the long hours of waiting to be collected from his room or to help himself go back to sleep after a waking nightmare, Jarod often drew. Sydney had taken away quite a few things from Jarod, but he never discouraged him from his art. Perhaps he knew that it helped Jarod focus and relax from a stressful simulation.

As the lines took their form of order on the back of a file folder, the shape grew into the head of a horse. Soon, he formed a rounded base for the head to rest upon. As he began to create muscles and shadows of the chess piece's neck, he started to recollect a treasured memory of the past.

"Sydney? What're those two boys doing?" a young Jarod inquired of Sydney as they passed a pair of twin teenagers sitting opposite one another from a table.

"Oh, they're playing chess. It's a game."

"A game? But aren't those supposed to be sports? I designed a new type of brake pad for the bobsleds last year at the '68 Olympics."

"Yes, but, this game is specially designated for two players. All sports are games of some sort, but not all games are sports."

"I see. So one side has to win and the other must fail?"

"Indeed, that is the object of the game. White is said to be the 'good' side, and black is the 'evil' side. Players try to outwit one another and place each other's kings in check."

"What does check mean?"

"Well, in order for there to be stability in a kingdom, there must be a king. A specific threat upon the king is to put him into check or to jeopardize his life. The ultimate last move of the game is called "checkmate". That is when one player wins and the other loses, like you cleverly observed."

"Could I learn how to play? Could you teach me, Sydney?"

"Hmm, well, I think you're old enough to understand the rules. After this simulation, I promise to do so. We have our work to do first."

"But Sydney, I don't want to do another simulation. I want to play chess!" Jarod whined, and his mentor gently directed him towards a door away from the chess players.

"I gave you my word, Jarod. Trust me. Keep your focus."

"Okay," the Pretender shrugged.

Three hours later, Sydney ushered Jarod into his office and closed the door. "Now, you kept your end of the bargain. It's now my turn. Go ahead and choose a side. Remember, neither is better. It is up to you to empower your army to defend your king and attack mine. However, if you'd like to start first, the white side always goes first."

"Why is that? Wouldn't evil people attack first?"

"Not necessarily so."

Jarod chose the white side and picked up one of his knights. Sydney reached across the table and touched his wrist. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked Jarod.

"The knight can jump in an "L" shape over things, Sydney. That's what you told me on the way here, right? Three across, one up? Three over, one down? Three up, one across, three down, one over...-"

"Yes, but the key to being a good chess player is to be able to stay ahead of your opponent. One does not just make one move and wait for the next. You want to try and anticipate what pieces will come into play with one another; in other words, formulate a strategy. Think at least 2 moves ahead of your current one. A more advanced chess player can do three or more, but it's also good not to plan too far ahead. Then you won't know what to do if the other does something completely unexpected. A good chess player knows which pieces need to be sacrificed in order to protect his king."

"What happens if we're just left with kings?"

"That situation is also known as a stalemate, where no one wins. It's like a tie in a race. As you can imagine, that outcome is not a very desirable one," Sydney explained.

"What about those clocks on the table? Don't we need those?"

"Not yet," the psychiatrist chuckled. "After you beat me, perhaps I can arrange for you to play against some of the others. Then we'll see about a clock."

As Jarod finished his drawing, he booted up his desktop computer and smiled. He had lost to Sydney that day, but it was the first and last time at that. The next day, he had Sydney pinned in twenty moves. The number tapered down to a record of six and by that time, he had beaten every single other boy on the block. That's what this situation was boiling down to--knowing his enemy and what to anticipate.

_Think at least two moves ahead of your current one. A good chess player knows which pieces need to be sacrificed in order to protect his king. _

"Or win the game," Jarod muttered aloud and clicked on the Internet Explorer "E" logo on his desktop. "Hmm...Department of Defense, huh? I was just there a few days ago. Let's see...employee login required. Perhaps they'll let me use the same password..."

He made a few quick keystrokes and was granted access to the entire website seconds later. "Bingo. My, they've gotten rather sloppy with their security encryption. Now let's see if there's anyone here that could be linked to the FBI."

Jarod sorted his way through the department of directories and finally came to an interesting link. "Ah...CGB Spender, Special Liaison to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And what exactly was your job?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Margaret Scully Residence, Washington, D.C.

April 24th, 2001, 8:39 p.m.

Scully did not have to show her credentials to this crime scene. The few police officers that were guarding the 'do not cross' line lifted it for her and did not even bat an eye towards Mulder. She trudged up the steps with him, and Doggett opened the door for them. "Agent Scully...Mulder," was his acknowledgment. He led them into the kitchen where Reyes and some other man Scully did not recognize were seated at the table.

Margaret Scully lifted a whistling kettle off of the stove and poured the water into a teacup beside the range. She picked it up and set the cup down in front of Reyes.

"Even in times of distress, you're still serving others," Scully mused. "Hi, Mom."

Without another hesitating moment, Maggie rushed to her daughter and hugged her fiercely. "I'm so sorry, Dana. Please, you must forgive me," she whispered.

"Mom, it'll be all right. We'll find William." Scully returned her mother's embrace and then slowly released her. As Maggie turned to hug Mulder, he also accepted her warmth.

"Dana, this is SAC Tony Capricci, from the Organized Crime Division. He, uh...he's been helping us with a case up 'till now, and he insisted upon coming here with us to help," Reyes told her.

Capricci stepped forward, reached for Scully's hand, and kissed the back of her palm. "This is an honor, Agent Scully. I wish we could have met under better circumstances instead of tragedy, and I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to bring these bastards to justice as well as get your son back to you without a scratch," he introduced himself. "Mr. Mulder, at last." He extended a hand towards the ex-FBI agent and shook it firmly once.

"At last?" Mulder queried Capricci with a furrowed eyebrow.

"You're my idol--I finally got to meet 'Spooky' Fox Mulder after all these years of wishing and hoping."

Scully's eyebrow raised as she partially turned towards Mulder, who just shrugged.

"I'm surprised that this case wasn't assigned to VCS," she remarked and glanced momentarily at Doggett.

"That was my doing," Capricci announced. "I thought you'd want to know the agents who'd be handling the case. As I understand it, the X-Files Division doesn't have too many friends in the FBI."

"We have none," Scully returned bitterly.

"Think of me as an ally, then. If at any time you deem it necessary, I could hand this investigation over to the VCS...I'm sensing a lack of trust here."

"Just caution," Mulder replied. "We've had 'friends' in the FBI that have openly betrayed the X-Files Division before."

"What happened, Mom?" Scully asked Maggie, who also had taken a seat at the kitchen table. "Why the bandage?" She pointed to the taped gauze on her mother's head.

"I'm afraid that I don't know very much, Dana. All I can remember is taking a pie out of the oven and closing the door. I just heard William start to cry, and then I started to turn around. But then, nothing. I...I must have been struck from behind."

"What's been done here?" Mulder questioned Doggett.

"The local police forensics came through and found nothin'. So, SAC Capricci here pulled a few strings and had some guys from Quantico come. They found a few fibers but other than that, nothin'," he answered.

"Is that herbal tea helping you out any, Monica?" Maggie asked Reyes, who had just removed the bag and sipped a bit of it.

"I think so, yes. Oh, these cravings are killing me, too," Reyes responded and held the cup just below her nasal cavity. "Whoever said that quitting smoking would be easy should be shot. It's causing so much pain to my sinuses that I'm getting migraines."

"If you don't mind, Agent Scully, I think Tony and I will be heading to the police and Quantico to see if they found anything in a few minutes. Monica, what'd your doctor say?" Doggett inquired.

"I didn't get a chance to make that appointment yet, I'm afraid, John."

"Does this sound normal to you, Agent Scully?"

"Medically speaking, no. But I don't think that it's any cause for immediate alarm. How long have you had these migraines?"

"Almost two days," Reyes told her and consumed some more tea. The insistent ringing of a cell phone interrupted the conversation as everyone except Margaret Scully reached for theirs. Only Capricci came up with a winner. "This is Tony. Uh-huh. What've you got for me?" He paused for a few moments as he listened. "You know what they are? Good. I'm bringing a friend, is that okay? I didn't think it'd be a problem, thanks, Danny."

All eyes turned to the Italian agent.

"They've matched up the fibers. Let's go, Doggett," Capricci ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"Please, for God's sake, dispense with the 'sir' already." Both of them spun around and headed for the front door.

"We'll keep you informed of everything, Agent Scully," Doggett stated and waived a brief goodbye to all left behind.

"Monica, if these migraines persist any longer, I think you should check into a hospital. They can ultimately cause frequent blackouts. Have you had any?" Scully asked Reyes.

"I had one last night, as a matter of fact. Don't worry, Dana, I'll go home and get some rest in a little while. I just had to reassure myself that your mom was okay." She finished the tea and took the cup over to the sink to rinse it. "How about you two? Will you be all right?"

"Yes, we're fine, thank you."

"Scully, may I speak with you in private?" Mulder questioned her. He did not wait for an answer; he led her purposefully into the living room by the hand. "Do you have the same suspicions as I?" he continued in a lower volume.

"Possibly. But nothing's led us down that road yet."

"We were getting too close for comfort."

"Mulder, I know what you're gonna say...-"

"Do you?" he interrupted her. "I don't think so."

She withdrew her hand from his forcefully. "Well, then, finish it," she barked.

"Please don't build up your walls, Scully. Remember, he's my son, too."

Scully crossed her arms and turned away from him.

"All I'm going to say is that I think you did the right thing by walking away. I didn't walk away years ago when I should have, and look what they did to you. To us," he remarked dejectedly. "I think you should stay away from this case."

"What?"

"Don't pursue them any longer. Our son matters more."

Scully blinked hard; she could not believe her ears. Here was the same man that had told her he would look for the truth no matter the cost. He even lived up to that statement more times than she cared to recollect.

"No," she whispered.

"No? Scully, what's the matter with you?" Mulder's voice grew louder.

"Don't you see that by doing that I give them the advantage? Whatever happened to the pursuit of truth no matter what, Mulder? Have you lost that vision?" Her voice's timbre now matched his level.

"I've just realized that over the years, the price can become too heavy. They've got our son, damnit! I don't want to lose him, and I don't want to lose you!" he shouted.

"You won't lose me, Mulder. This group must answer to The People for what they've done, and we must pursue justice. If you won't do it with me, then I don't know who you are anymore. The Fox Mulder I knew once before has changed into someone completely different. I'm not sure if I like it."

"I'm still the same person, Scully. It sounds like you're going to have to make a choice between justice and getting William back."

"And what're you going to do about it?"

"I'll do whatever it takes, but remember, there's only so far I can go now as a civilian. William is my flesh and blood. I'll die for him if need be. You know, you don't have to stand by idly. You can go back to work and help that new guy out along with Doggett and Reyes."

"Do you know how hard it is for me to go into that office? I feel like I'm a useless appendage--we rarely get to work on any paranormal cases. Kersh has just been keeping us in that office for appearance's sake. But in reality, the X-Files Division closed when you were fired, Mulder."

"I don't believe that."

"Well, you haven't been stomped on by Deputy Director Kersh recently, then. I'm tired of his attitude, and frankly, I don't know how much longer I can go on at the FBI under a supervisor like that."

"You're not thinking of quitting, are you?" he accused her belligerently.

"For Christ's sake, stop jumping to conclusions, Mulder!" She crossed the room and plopped down on a sofa. "I'll probably go back to teaching at Quantico. The X-Files aren't for me if I can't pursue justice any longer."

"Then...can you do something for me?" he queried and joined her.

"What? What is it?"

"Please don't quit the X-Files until Will is found." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Agent Scully, Mulder?" Reyes entered the room. Once she noticed their semi-intimate embrace, she looked away. "I'm sorry, I heard shouting. Is everything all right?"

"No, not really," Mulder replied. "Scully wants to quit the X-Files."

After that remark, she shot him an icy glare but said nothing.

"And why does that come as such a shock to you?" Reyes questioned him and walked round the couch to face them. "You quit the FBI without a fight."

"Nobody was there to help me."

"That's not true; Skinner was there. Doggett was there. Although you didn't know it at the time, SAC Capricci was there, too. I'm sure he would've been a huge help to you. But you never bothered to ask--I thought that was rather cowardly of you."

"You really think Kersh would let me back into the FBI, much less the X-Files' office? He'd roll over in his grave before letting that happen," Mulder retorted.

"It's been very difficult in the last couple of months since you left. John has had it up to here," she pointed to her neck, "with Deputy Director Kersh. He has his theories about Kersh's loyalties; up until today, we were thinking that he's been taking bribes from someone in that group."

"He's been on the Consortium's leash for at least three years. That's nothing new," Scully mumbled.

"Why today?" Mulder inquired. "What happened?"

"He okayed Agent Scully's request to stay in the field, and he also helped us press forward with the case against the Centre," Reyes told him.

"How far along have you gotten with that, by the way?"

"A good deal, actually. Capricci had a friend find her way into a few Swiss bank accounts without being detected and located some EFTs that have yet to take place between the Centre and North Korea. She also searched the Internet for the company but could only find it listed on the NYSE. You'd think for a military contractor like that, they'd want to advertise their business to the world, since they damn well do business with everyone."

"Why didn't you go to the Gunmen?" Mulder asked her.

"Capricci is overseeing this case; it was his decision to move in that direction. The Gunmen were pretty wary enough of Doggett and me the last time we visited them. Those guys have major issues, by the way," she shook her head and was suddenly hit with a sharp malady. Reyes seized her temples and groaned.

"That's it, you're going to the hospital. Mulder, can you please stay here and watch over my mom until I get back?" Scully requested and arose.

"Of course. How long will you be?"

"I don't know--she might have to be admitted." She paused and eyed Reyes carefully. "Monica, can you see me? Can you follow my finger with your eyes?" Scully lifted her index digit and trailed it back and forth. Reyes opened her eyes to a squint and immediately shut them with a whimper. "God, it hurts," she hissed painfully.

"That's not the answer I was hoping for," Scully sighed. Her eyes pleaded with Mulder, and he nodded with understanding. He journeyed into Margaret Scully's foyer, brought Reyes' coat, and helped her get into it.

"Do you need me to carry her to the car?" he inquired. "Can you walk, Agent Reyes?"

Reyes was non-responsive; Scully had gone into the kitchen to speak with her mother, and so Mulder took it upon himself to sling one of her arms around his neck. He placed his other arm around her hip and propelled the both of them outside. Mulder took her down the steps one at a time; she appeared to be very dizzy and disoriented.

A few moments later, Scully re-appeared and unlocked the car. He opened the passenger door and gingerly slid her inside. "What do you think is wrong with her?"

"I'm not sure--her somatic symptoms seem to be pointing to something more than a migraine headache. She couldn't walk very well, however, she is still conscious. I'm gonna take her to Georgetown; they've got a very reasonable staff for head traumas." She closed Reyes' door and traveled to the driver's side of the car with Mulder at her heels. "You're going to look after Mom, right?"

"Yes. She might not want me around for too long, though."

"I doubt that very much; she loves you like a son."

"Some good son _I_ turned out to be. I dumped William on her to go to you, and this wouldn't have happened if I-"

"Don't say that. Don't even dare to start down that guilt trip...at least...not without a companion," she sighed. She reached up and lightly traced his cheek. He caught her hand on the way back down and touched his lips to the inside of her palm tenderly.

"I'll stay until she falls asleep."

"Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

900 1st Ave, The Bronx, New York, NY

April 24th, 2001, 9:14 p.m

Thirteen men and women shuffled into the basement of the apartment duplex. Strughold proceeded the party and illuminated the room as all members removed chairs from a great oak table to be seated. The Well-Manicured Man and Marita Covarrubias were among them.

"Thank you for agreeing to convene tonight, Mesdames et Messieurs," Strughold began. "The purpose of this meeting is to make a decision upon continuing in Indianapolis. Our key operator, as most of you know, is Ms. Covarrubias. It is through her shrewd and keen eye that all parts of our project have presently come into play in that city. The committee would like to know, Ms. Covarrubias, has the drug dealer been disposed of?"

"Affirmative. The drug dealer, Mr. Everett Campbell, 29, of Indianapolis, has been efficiently removed from our project. I have also been informed by one of our Adams in the same metropolis that the detective has also been eliminated, as well as any evidence of their crimes," the blonde woman replied coolly.

"And what of the FBI?" a woman with brown hair and hazel eyes asked Marita. "They were an impedance as well, as I understand it."

"You are correct, but we have successfully diverted Scully's attention back to Washington, D.C. with the abduction of her son," the Well-Manicured Man responded and folded his fingers together on top of his place.

"Our informant in the Indianapolis PD tells me that no one has seized the reins to investigate us any further, so that leaves me with a very healthy future," Covarrubias added.

"You mean, it leaves our project with a positive outlook in Indianapolis," Strughold corrected her. "When can we begin the testing again?"

"The facility will be ready by tomorrow morning. I can arrange for some transportation to bring in the subjects if needed," the Well-Manicured Man stated.

"This is moving very fast, very quickly indeed. Can we be sure of our location's security?" an Asian man that appeared to be in his early fifties asked Covarrubias.

"Most assuredly so. Our contact in the Pentagon has arranged for ultimate secrecy and security. No one, unless they've got a tank or helicopter, can get into that facility," she answered him truthfully.

"And what of the facility with the child? Will they test him as well?" the same woman directed her question toward Strughold.

"The fate of William Scully is yet to be decided. For now, he is safe and well-protected. We will return him to Agent Scully when the time is appropriate," he told her. "Are there any objections to holding a vote now?" He paused and swept his eyes around the room. No one said a word; their silence was a mutual agreement. "Good. All who oppose the project's continuance in Indianapolis, please write 'veto' on the index card in front of you. All who agree to it, please write 'approve'. Once you are finished, the cards will be placed in the center of the table, and I will tally the votes."

The members of the Consortium cast their cards immediately; Covarrubias arose and delivered them all to Strughold's place at the head of the table. Roughly a minute later, after he divided the cards into two groups, he set them back down on the wooden plateau. "It has then been decided by the committee that we shall continue tout de suite. My medical staff is at your disposal, Ms. Covarrubias--I will join them in Indianapolis tomorrow evening," Strughold announced.

Covarrubias' expression lightened, and she gave him a pleasant smile. "Thank you, Mr. Strughold. Might I be able to take a few minutes of your time now? I am needed at the office tomorrow; I must make all arrangements tonight."

"As you like."

The rest of the group left along with the Well-Manicured Man, who apologized to Marita on his way out. She joined Strughold at the table but did not sit this time. "I will use my contacts to try and find that nano controller as soon as I can, Strughold. It has not been easy, though."

"The technology is not lost, Marita. If you don't find it within the next two weeks, leave it be. I do not want to waste any more of your resources or attract any attention from another government agency," he replied.

"Understood. Dr. Bowman called me an hour ago; Dr. Gossamer's dead. She committed suicide this afternoon."

"That is unfortunate, but we knew the risks. This flaw does not appear to be present in the Adams, though--I find that strange, as a scientist. Thankfully, she has given us much hope in the last few months."

"Strughold, an idea has come to my mind, and since you are the chairman, perhaps you can set it forth into motion."

"I'm listening."

"Why not use the nanobots to fight the purity? They attack human disease substantially well, don't they?"

"Yes, they do. Hmm. My laboratory in Tunis is poorly staffed now that most of the doctors and nurses are in Indianapolis. But...instead of returning to that city tomorrow, I will instead go east to work on that idea. There are no guarantees that the nanotechnology will work, but that is an interesting hypothesis."

907 Chester Ave., Indianapolis, IN

April 24th, 2001, 10:37 p.m.

Jarod unhooked his laptop from his apartment's cable modem and shut it down. The secrets and lies of the Consortium were now clear to him; they were experimenting upon the city for their project. What angered him the most was that this organization moved exactly like the Centre; they apparently had no morals and manipulated everyone they possibly could. But this man, Spender, was far more clever and just as treacherous as the Centre. Hours earlier, he had scanned through all of his personal Department of Defense files and learned the truth.

As he waited for the computer to turn itself off, he stuffed an envelope full of files and sealed it shut. The recipient was Detective Simon Webb of the Indianapolis Police Department. He hoped the information would get to Webb in time and perhaps motivate him to take a closer look at what was really occurring in his city. It was now time for Jarod to return Scully's help. _She and Mulder have suffered just as much as I. _

Verne glanced around his apartment for any remaining personal items, removed an identification card from the laminating machine that sat on his bed, and tucked it into a breast pocket of his suit coat. He grabbed the cell phone that had been lying on his desk.

"Scully," came an exhausted voice at the other end.

"Dana, this is Jarod. Have they found your son yet?"

"No, they haven't."

"You must be tired from your travels, so I'll be brief. Your enemy from the Department of Defense...he sounds a lot like the people who have tormented me for over forty years. I read that he had you abducted and experimented upon. He gave you a terrible disease, from which, I understand, you have fully recovered."

"He's dead. But there others like him that are still out there causing the same terror to many. That's what I was trying to stop until...-" she stopped herself and breathed heavily into the phone.

"Then it is time for you to step back and let others fight against them."

"Who are you to say such things? And how did you find out about this man? Are you obtaining this information legally?"

"Do not anger the gods, for they will exact revenge," Jarod advised her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Jarod? Jarod!"

He pressed the talk button, pocketed the cell phone, and picked up his black suit coat from the back of a chair. He put it on and dusted some fuzz off of his epaulets, which carried four linear stripes. "Hmm...it's been a while since I've used you."

Jarod straightened his cuffs, retrieved his silver suitcase and laptop, then walked out the door without looking back. As soon as he got to the street, he packed the trunk and started the engine. When the car roared to life, the radio came on, and nearly blasted his ears out with a happy Broadway tune. "New York, New York, it's a wonderful town. The Bronx is here, and the Battery's down. New York, New York, it's a wonderful town!" a pleasant voice sang.

"Indeed it is," Jarod agreed and shut the stereo off.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

April 25th, 2001, 12:39 a.m.

As she let herself inside, she saw a familiar wallet and set of keys lying on her kitchen table. A brilliant series of flashes attracted her attention to the muted TV and an unconscious Mulder sprawled on the couch. His head was leaned all the way back and his mouth hung open as he breathed through it sporadically. The sight of this perfect tranquility and sliver of domestic normality almost broke her heart.

It didn't feel right to wake him up and ask him to go home, especially after he had just done her a favor by staying with her mother. So Scully turned the TV off and began to pick through her mail. Thankfully, there were no messages on her machine for once. She removed her coat, hung it up, and adjourned to her kitchen table to further browse her mail. "Credit card bill, advertisement for Avalon Spa...hmm...junk. Junk, junk, junk. Great. Another bill. I swear that this is the only part of my life that feels normal anymore," she muttered and slid a fingernail underneath the sealed flap.

She was so engrossed in her credit card bill that she did not hear the footsteps behind her chair or see the shadow of a figure looming over her. Hands reached for the back of her head and gently slid through her hair. The gasp that came from her quickly turned into a sigh as she realized who was also present with her. "Oh, Mulder. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she said and yawned.

"I hoped that you would, but preferably for another reason besides going through your bills," he chuckled and continued his ministrations to the back of her scalp.

"I think I might fall asleep right here and now if you continue that." Scully let the paper fall to the floor and leaned all the way forward until she was outstretched on the table on top of her mail.

"I don't know if I'd like that. This is the classic Mulder scalp massage, guaranteed to wile away the troubles of your day, and also, well...um...invigorate you..." he stammered.

"Are you coming on to me, Mulder?" Her voice was somewhat muffled, but he found it incredibly sensual. Never the less, he did not falter from his task.

"Uh...not if it makes you feel uncomfortable."

"Well, I'm getting a little too comfortable in this position, and although this feels like heaven, I'm gonna need to retreat to my bed soon."

"Who's rushing you?"

She sighed before giving her answer and relaxed. "No one."

"All right, then. Tell me about Agent Reyes," Mulder soothed and moved his hands to the nape of her neck.

"I had the doctors run a CT scan and MRI. They didn't see anything to worry about, but they are keeping her for observation for the night. The best thing for a migraine sufferer to do is to rest and have peace. Drugs work temporarily, but they do come with a cost."

"Mmmhmm. Go on."

"This does not feel like a scalp massage, Mulder. Your hands have migrated to my vertebrae."

"Well, the new and improved Mulder neck massage also guarantees to..." He stopped his actions and glanced down at her torso.

"Guarantees to do what, Mulder?"

"I was just noticing that you're still armed."

"Oh," she yawned again and sat back up.

_Great. Guess I just ruined the moment, _he thought_. Strike one. _

"I told Monica not to come in tomorrow, so I guess it'll just be Doggett and me," Scully remarked despondently and arose.

"Is that so horrible?"

"Not unless I get there first and make the coffee. So again, as much as I'd like to give into my inhibitions and carnal desires tonight, I can't. I'm afraid I'm a little worn out. Sorry, Mulder."

_Strike two. _

"When did Mom go to sleep?"

"About eleven thirty. Then I came over here to see if you were back yet, and you know the rest of the story."

"Indeed I do. Stay here if you'd like. I think I could get you some sheets for the couch if-"

"Don't trouble yourself, Scully. I'll just use the blanket--it's no biggie."

"All right, well...good night, Mulder," she sighed and trailed off into her bedroom. The door closed swiftly afterward.

"Damn. Strike three, I'm out," he mumbled and went back to the couch.

Special Representative to the Secretary General Office, UN Building, New York, NY

April 25th, 2001, 9:12 a.m.

"Lt. Colonel Jarod Grant," Jarod introduced himself to the executive assistant in the atrium and gave her a brilliant grin. "I'm here for my 9:30 with the Special Representative."

"Oh, yes, sir, she's expecting you. However, she does have another visitor at the moment," the woman began, to which Jarod held up a hand.

"That's quite all right. I understand how busy the life of a diplomat can be." He took off his gloves and tucked them neatly underneath an oak-leaf epaulet. Suddenly, the intercom at the secretary's desk beeped. "Who's outside, Paula?" a female voice inquired.

"Lt. Colonel Grant, of the um...-"

"Just the Army, miss. I'm a plain and simple kind of guy."

"Send him in right away. I could use another member of the military, actually," Covarrubias commanded.

"Yes, of course, Ms. Covarrubias," Paula replied and opened the electromagnetic door with the flick of a switch underneath her desk. As soon as Jarod went through it, the door immediately closed itself.

The office of the Special Representative was luxurious; the furniture was all mahogany or a cherry rosewood. Its walls were covered with a placid green wallpaper and shelves of encased books lined nearly every single one of them. Covarrubias rose from her desk and pleasantly shook his hand. "How do you do, Colonel? My name is Marita Covarrubias."

"It's my pleasure to be of service to you, ma'am. Now you were saying something about another member of the military...?" Grant pressed.

"Of course, I was just getting to that. Lt. Colonel Grant, please meet Captain Charles Scully, of the United States' Air Force."

Captain Scully did not stand, but he did offer his hand to Jarod. "Nice to meet you, I'm sure," he stated matter-of-factly.

"The reason why I called for you gentlemen is because a situation has come into play in West Virginia. It could be rather...messy, and we'd like to keep this problem under wraps," Covarrubias commented. "Captain Scully, I understand that you are Bethesda Air Base's finest pilot. You did some recent missions out of Kosovo, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, but I can't comment upon them at this time," he replied and peripherally glanced at Jarod.

"There's no need for secrecy, Captain Scully. Lt. Colonel Grant is here at my request, and I have your file on my desk. Your mission details aren't restricted to UN officials...especially Americans."

"What do you want to know? How many bombs I dropped?" he snapped back.

"No, I want to find out what type of plane you flew."

"An F-16."

"Lt. Colonel, you ran some reconnaissance with the Rangers back in the Gulf War. Could you possibly use your status to do so again?" Covarrubias inquired.

"It's likely. What's needed?" Jarod asked.

"As you gentlemen know, what I'm about to say is to be held in the strictest confidence. It's so secret that only a handful of people know about it; you two are the last. Your men," she directed the order to Grant, "are to know only the location and time of this mission."

"What makes this an international concern since it's on US soil?" Capt. Scully questioned her.

"Because it concerns the planet and our safety," she responded gravely.

"How so?"

"Our satellites at El Rico picked up some unusual activity in the air approximately five miles away from Stonewall Jackson Lake. Seeing as it is the beginning of spring and nearly inevitable for the possibility of civilian interference, we have closed down the state park for two days. Unfortunately, that is all the time we have before more questions would be asked by state officials."

"Unusual activity? I don't understand...we know what other countries' planes look like. The Cold War is long over between us and Russia...China's on pretty good terms with us..." Capt. Scully remarked.

"We had a three man team go out from Ft. Nexus; they were Black Berets. Only one of them returned, and he came back with third degree burns on his face. I am told from the doctors at the base that they could see parts of the man's skull. He'll probably never use his mouth again normally."

"How did the others die?" Jarod inquired.

"That's what we want you to find out. The soldier couldn't say too much; he was also suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome," Covarrubias answered him. "We also want to find out as much as you can about the aircraft, Captain Scully. Take detailed photographs--perhaps the craft will still be operable. We'd like to know that as well. Here was the team's last reported position." She wrote the number on a slip of paper and handed it across the bureau to Grant.

"If some foreign airplane crashed in a state park, it's gonna be a wreck. There's no way to salvage a demolished jet," Capt. Scully scoffed.

"I didn't say it was a jet, Captain. The craft was going too fast to be properly classified as one."

"Well, then...well...what was its velocity?" His forehead wrinkled in disbelief, and he crossed one leg over the other.

"We couldn't measure it. By the time it was recognized the second time, it had disappeared."

"What else is needed to be done?" Grant asked her.

"Nothing yet. But as of eleven o'clock this morning, we have 48 hours. 48 hours for investigation, clean up, and recovery," she informed them. "Let's get busy, gentlemen."

Outside the office, 40th floor of UN Building...

"I can't believe they called me in for this crap. I was gonna test a new stealth bomber tomorrow," Capt. Scully lamented as he and Grant traveled down the long corridor.

"You think it's a dirty assignment to look for a murderer?"

"I'm a pilot, Colonel. I fly the skies. This job we're being asked to do; it sounds like a legit assignment for a government agency."

"Like the FBI?"

"Yeah, I guess. My sister'd probably be all for it."

"Your sister," Jarod pondered the thought for a few seconds as they finally arrived at an elevator. "Is her name Dana?"

Capt. Scully studied him incredulously. "How do you know her?"

"I met her in Indianapolis this last weekend. She was working a case there."

"How'd you meet?"

"We sort of...bumped into one another in a fast food restaurant." Grant pushed the call button and leaned a shoulder up against a wall.

"Hmmph, one of those wild coincidences, I guess. So, what time do you want to meet tonight?"

"I'll need some time to prepare and contact two others, but, I estimate that we should rendezvous at the previous team's entry point at say...1930 hours?"

"Sounds fine. She gave you the GPS position of the Berets, right?"

"I have the information," Jarod agreed. "Will you need a copy?"

"Nah, just let me look at it once." As the lift's doors opened, Jarod withdrew the paper and gave it to Capt. Scully. When they closed, he returned the scrap to Grant. "I'll be ready to meet you then."

The X-Files Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

April 25th, 2001, 10:04 a.m.

"Sorry to be late this morning, Agent Scully," Doggett apologized as he crossed the threshold of the open door.

Scully sorted through the papers she'd been reading and shuffled them all together into a pile. "That's quite fine, Agent Doggett. I was just uh...catching up on what I missed with the Centre case file. Uh...SAC Capricci met with me earlier and notified me that he is now going to totally dedicate his time to try and find my son. He put the paperwork through to Deputy Director Kersh earlier this morning, and the case is now officially ours."

"Pardon me for asking, but what did Kersh have to say about that case out in Indianapolis?"

"I left the status as being open; he said that he was glad that I came back to my senses, and that this case is more worth our time than what I was doing," she shook her head. "If I ever find out whom he reports to in that organization..."

"Monica's okay. I was visiting her at the hospital this morning to check up on her--hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. How is she?"

"She seemed like her old self; they're going to give her a prescription for a while. She's going to return tomorrow just for half a day. Only Monica knows her limits." He sat down at his desk and pulled out a CD from his suit jacket. "Did you ever see what they did to him?"

"See what who did what to whom?" Scully leaned forward in the chair and reached out a hand for the disc.

"These recordings are a compilation of some events of a guy's life named Jarod. This is the guy that's been narc'ing the Centre to the Lone Gunmen."

"A guy named Jarod? Hmm." As he gave the disc to her, she gummed her bottom lip pensively and ejected her computer's disk drive. "I wonder if..." Scully slid the disc into the tray and pushed it gently back into the tower.

Three men dragged a kicking, screaming, shirtless Pretender to a rolling gurney and strapped him down to it with restraints. "No, no, please don't!" Jarod yelled.

"Tighten those straps," a bald headed man with an oxygen line running through his nose ordered the men. Two of them complied with his wishes while the bald man swabbed Jarod's shoulder and plunged a hypodermic needle into him. Four wires were placed on his chest.

"No! No!" Jarod pleaded.

"Open the chamber," the man continued and they did as told. The next order was unspoken; the gurney carrying the Pretender was shoved into the cylindrical tank, and they slammed the door shut.

"No, no, please stop!" Even while he was inside the tank, he still fought to get out of his bindings.

"Oh, I haven't seen this one. What're they doing to him?" Doggett asked as he came over to Scully's desk and peered over her shoulder at the computer monitor.

"I'm not sure from this angle, Agent Doggett. But it doesn't look like an ethical medical procedure to me," she replied. "My God."

"What? What's that mean?"

"Get him out of there!" the bald man screamed.

Moments later, the chamber was opened with a blast of visibly cold air, and the gurney was removed with a silent Jarod. His activity monitors were making dangerous noises. The bald man took two defibrillator paddles and charged them up. "All right, everyone get your hands off of him! Clear!"

Once was not enough. "Give me a higher charge! Clear!"

The second jump start still had no effect on the Pretender.

"Once more, higher! Good, clear!"

Finally, Jarod's heart came back to life. "Excellent. Let's give him two minutes to establish a normal rhythm, and we'll repeat the procedure."

"They were killing him," Scully said finally, making eye contact with Doggett. "I'm not sure what kind of drug was being used on him, but it looks like it's used to slow or stop the heart."

"From what I saw, it looked like they were freezing him, too. Why would anyone want to do that?"

"To perhaps speed up the drug's effect. I don't know for sure," she shook her head. "But this man...I met him." She tapped the screen.

"You actually met Jarod face to face?"

"Mmhmm, yes; he was the coroner I was staying to help in Indianapolis."

"What about this other guy?" Doggett motioned to the bald headed man.

"Don't know him. But his morals are certainly askew. He seems to value science over human life, and in my book, that's a huge crime. I'd like to take this to the Gunmen and find out who this man is, as well as the identity of the other standing in the corner."

"They were the ones who gave me this disc. I'm afraid if they'd known of Dr. Frankenstein's name, they'd have given it to me by now." Doggett went over to his bureau and picked up the phone.

"What're you doing?" Scully questioned him.

"I'm gonna have somebody figure out who Dr. Mengele is. She helped us before and kept the whole thing under wraps."

"Who is this person?"

"Trust me, Agent Scully." He dialed in four digits and rested a hip against the corner of his desk. "Hello, is this the Cyber Division? This is John Doggett, of the X-Files. Can you put me through to extension 216? Thanks. Hello, Agent Wazir? Yeah, this is John Doggett. Could you come down to our office for a little bit? We've got something for you to look at that requires your expertise. No, uh, Tony's not here...just Agent Scully and myself. Is that okay?" Doggett paused for a few seconds as he listened to Wazir. "Thanks very much. It'll probably only take you ten minutes. No, we've got computers here. I appreciate it. See you in five."

"Agent Wazir? That name rings a bell," Scully said and tapped the underside of her chin. "What's her first name?"

"I believe it's Sabrina."

"Oh, now I remember. Poor woman," she shook her head and removed a pen from her center drawer.

"You mean you know her already?"

"No, I just heard rumors. Now I know who the culprit was; the uh...party of the second part to Agent Capricci was a toxicologist. I've worked with her numerous times at Quantico."

"So you knew who Tony was?"

"No," her attention left Doggett to a form, to which she signed with a flourish. "Woman's intuition."

"Huh?"

"I just knew that Rita Hayes mentioned that she had unintentionally been involved in a love triangle, and that the situation she was found in with the man was...particularly embarrassing."

"How is it that I didn't know about this?"

"Women listen; men don't," she smirked and scanned over another piece of paper.

"I guess I've just...learned to block my ears after hearing all the rumors being spread about our division. You'd think that they have nothing else better to do than dream up stories about the three of us."

"Oh," Scully chuffed, "what're they saying this week?"

"This is office is rather...small," a female voice observed from around the corner. She poked her head in and made direct eye contact with Scully. "You must be whom they nickname 'Mrs. Spooky.'"

Scully arched an eyebrow and glanced at Doggett as if to ask _who the hell is this_? The second piece of body language spoke massively of a veiled threat; her lower jaw extended itself outward, and she folded her hands across her lap. "And you would be?" she finally asked.

"This is Agent Sabrina Wazir, Agent Scully," Doggett broke the tension and motioned for Wazir to come inside. "Agent Wazir, Agent Dana Scully."

"I'm told you're one of the finest in Cyber Division."

"Oh, she did not just say one of the finest," Wazir huffed and disgustedly spun around.

"Agent Wazir, please, we need your help," Doggett begged. "We can't turn to anyone else."

"Well, perhaps, you could turn to one of the other finer agents in CD that Agent Scully aforementioned."

"You've certainly got an attitude problem," Scully noted. "How did you pass the FBI psych exam?"

"I don't do people," she shook her head. Wazir turned a full 180 and began to walk down the hallway; Doggett shot out of the office like a bullet.

"You've got to excuse Agent Scully; she's uh...out of sorts today," he started.

"Yeah, so I've heard," Wazir retorted. "She's been out of her tree for the last nine years."

"Look, you are amazing at what you do; I'll grant you that. But that's no reason for you to disrespect a senior agent."

"I heard that she claims that she inexplicably 'got pregnant'. Who does she think she is, the Virgin Mary, or somethin'?"

"That's because she was previously thought to be barren."

"Yeah, well, my money's with everybody else; Spooky screwed her senseless, left town, came back, and then got fired for knocking her up."

"That's enough!" Doggett yelled and grabbed her by the arm. "None of that's true!"

"Let go of me."

"Not until you get back into that office and apologize to your fellow agent for such disparaging and unprofessional remarks." He released her and blocked the way to the elevator. "I heard about some skeletons in your closet," he continued on in a lower volume. "They sound a lot worse than Agent Scully's."

"And what do you know about 'em?"

"Enough to ruin your reputation almost as badly as hers."

Wazir's eyes went to the cement floor, and she sighed. "What do you need me to do?"

"How good are you at establishing identities from a still taken from a video?"

"It's as easy as playing chess against a five year old. Where's this video?"

"In there," Doggett signaled down the hallway with his head.

They turned and retreated back to the basement office. Scully had just taken out a hole puncher from her desk when they returned. She lifted up one stack of papers and mindlessly poked two holes through them without addressing either entering agent. Doggett lifted the client chair that was previously in front of Scully's desk next to her. "Agent Scully, Agent Wazir's got something to say to you," he cleared his throat.

Scully ran the papers through the X-File's brads without looking up.

"I need to use your computer, Agent Scully," Wazir stated and seated herself beside the pathologist.

"Fine," Scully returned coldly and shut the X-File.

"Which one of these guys do you want?" Wazir animated the monitor.

"That one, I think," Doggett told her and pointed to the bald man.

"Guy looks creepy. Wouldn't want him operating on me," she quipped and captured the image.

"I'd start searching in the medical licensing field if I were you," Scully mumbled.

"No shit, Sherlock." Wazir brought up the FBI internet browser and pasted the man's photo in the AMA database. The words 'no records found' appeared seconds later. "Hmm...this place is somewhere in the state of Delaware, right?"

"Good description, yeah," Doggett remarked.

"I'll look for him in their license bureau, but he might not be there."

"Meaning what?"

"He could've been licensed in another state and just practiced illegally there," Scully cut in. "But it's worth a shot."

Wazir pasted the picture into Delaware's database of medical licenses, and unfortunately, again, the words 'no records found' popped up on the next web page. "Hmm...he doesn't look too young. Let me try something different," she muttered. "Do doctors' licenses expire, Agent Scully?"

"No, but they can be revoked."

"Then let's hope I'm fishing in the right pond this time." Seconds later, Wazir's search was fruitful. "Bingo. Bald-headed man is formerly Dr. William Raines, MD. His license was suspended in 1988, and it says here that he hasn't re-applied for reinstatement so far."

"I doubt that those experiments were performed with Jarod's consent," Scully surmised. "I read here in SAC Capricci's report that you're not sure of the Centre's exact location. Why is that? Surely they advertise."

"They're a black listed syndicate. Maybe somebody in the military would know," Wazir suggested and shrugged.

"What kind of contracts have they done for our defenses?"

"They've done some things for the Air Force and the Navy. Good luck with that."

"I've got an idea of someone I can talk to," Doggett commented. "But I need to go up to his office alone."

"Who?" Scully's forehead furrowed into worry marks.

"Got a 302 form handy?" He straightened his tie and left the women alone.

"That's what I was just preparing," she raised her voice. "So," Scully faced Wazir, "who's this other guy?" she pointed to the man in the shadows.

"That'll take a little bit more time," Wazir responded apprehensively.

"Well, that shouldn't pose a problem for the best agent in Cyber Division, should it?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Route 182, outskirts of Blue Cove, Delaware

April 25th, 2001, 3:44 p.m.

"So what's your plan of attack, Agent Scully?" Doggett asked at the wheel and smoothly guided them around a semi.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Raines, and we'll go from there. Unfortunately, all I have is a tape that shows he's been involved in a few morally challenged experiments. That's not enough evidence for a jury," she answered him and took out a map from the glove compartment.

"No, but it's a good start that'll lead us to a search warrant."

Scully began to unfold the map and trace their path with her index finger. "Might I inquire as to whom you asked for the Centre's whereabouts?"

"Promise me you won't flip out."

"Doggett, I've been very forthcoming with you in the last few months. I expect you'd do the same service to me."

"All right." He took a deep breath. "I went to Kersh."

"And he helped you?"

"Kersh is a good man, Agent Scully. He can just become too legalistic sometimes and stubborn. That's probably why Mulder never got along with him. It had to be Kersh's way or nothing. That makes him a good leader, but also one with an easy downfall."

"So this investigation just happens to swing in his favor. I see." _Our department is being run by a man with PMS. Wonderful. _

"Do you want me to see if I can get to that other guy...Lyle?" Doggett questioned her.

"I think that would be wise. According to your directions, we should be at the facility's entrance in two or three miles. I don't see anything but trees and coastline."

"Oh? What do you call that?" He motioned with his head to a huge complex that was on the left side of the road just ahead of them and slowed the car down to make the turn.

"At least it has lovely scenery."

Doggett pulled the car into the driveway and came up to a black box that stood about three feet off of the ground in front of two massive iron gates. He rolled down his window and was just about to ask Scully a question when a voice startled him. "Please state your name and employee identification number."

"We don't work here. We're from the FBI," Doggett shouted to the box.

"Please state your names and badge numbers for verification," the voice continued.

He rolled his eyes and gave Scully a peeved expression, who shrugged and removed her badge from a sweater pocket. "Just go with the flow," she whispered and handed it to Doggett.

"Special Agent John Doggett, badge number JT2661500. Special Agent Dana Scully, badge number..." he paused while he opened up the flap, "JT25903710."

"What is your business at The Centre?"

"We're here to see two men; Mr. Lyle and Mr. Raines."

"Do either of them expect you?"

Doggett growled and thrust Scully's badge at her chest. She caught it with both hands and a gasp. "Do you think we'll get in any faster if I shoot the damn thing?" he asked her.

"I wish," she groaned. "No, just patiently remind them who we are."

"We're not expected, but we're not party guests. We're agents of the U.S. Justice Department, and we _will_ be obeyed. Now open this gate and let us in," he ordered the person on the other half of the conversation.

Another few silent seconds passed, but thankfully, the metallic gates opened with a large creaking noise. "Please see reception on your way in, Agents," the voice requested as Doggett shut his window.

"Man, this place is huge," Doggett muttered as he guided the FBI fleet sedan up the parkway.

The Centre complex was about two football fields long and consisted of ten adjoining buildings. The lawns were perfectly maintained; every bush had a flawless shape, and the grass was undeniably green. After they parked the car and headed inside the building's grand entrance, Scully was nearly petrified by the sight of two meticulously engineered waterfalls that fed into a pool with goldfish.

Two women with headsets sat behind a marbled desk that matched the saturation of the floor, and Doggett made it there first. He waited for Scully patiently for a few seconds, but eventually, his foot began to tap. She snapped herself out of her daydream, spun around, and joined her partner.

"We're here to see Mr. Lyle and Mr. Raines," Doggett told the brunette.

"Mmhmm, you're the FBI agents," she responded. "You'll be wanting to go to SL-2 and SL-8, respectively."

"And how do we go about getting there?" Scully asked.

"Do a 180 from this desk, and turn right at the waterfalls. You'll find a pair of elevators to take you down to your destinations."

"Thanks," Doggett replied. They started to leave, but the woman cleared her throat.

"Wait a second. You'll be needing these." She held up two badges with the word "visitor" blatantly typed across it and set them down on the ledge in front of her. Doggett sighed and took them.

"Great. Why don't we just get name tags?" he lamented as they journeyed to the elevators.

"Or better yet, cow bells around our necks," Scully grumbled. "Keep your phone on vibrate. I want to compare notes when we finish interviewing these men."

"Sure thing, Agent Scully."

"Agent Doggett?" She pressed the call button.

"Yeah?"

"When you called me yesterday to tell me about Will, what did you mean by 'being interrupted again' for bad news?"

"Well, about three years ago, right after I joined the Bureau, my own son was abducted. The toughest cases in the world to be working are the ones that are the most personal, Agent Scully. And I'm awfully sorry that it happened to you."

"I never heard about this."

"You were in the hospital at the time that a case just like it resurfaced. I felt that you had enough to worry about then, so I didn't let on about it."

She nodded in understanding and stepped into the lift with him. "Did you ever find him?"

"Yes," Doggett answered her passively. And he hoped that she didn't ask him about his son's condition at the time. Thankfully, the elevator was quick in its delivery; he left without another word.

He secured the visitor's pass on his breast coat pocket and stopped a black man in a designer suit. "Excuse me, where's Mr. Lyle's office?"

The man's forehead creased, and as he noticed the 'visitor' identifying Doggett as an outsider, he pointed to the FBI agent's left behind himself. "Go through those double doors right there, sir."

"Thanks." The ex-cop went to the doors and pulled them open only to find the office empty. He did admit that this was a huge corporation; Lyle could have just stepped out for a visit to the bathroom or copy machine.

So Doggett walked inside and settled himself into a chair. Moments later, the doors opened, and a man in his late sixties strolled in with a set of folders rested against his chest. He nearly dropped them all as he noticed his visitor, who turned around and got up to help his elder pick up the mess. "You're not Mr. Lyle," he said and scratched his head.

"No, I believe you have the wrong office," the man replied calmly and set the files onto his bureau. "Thank you for your assistance."

"But isn't this SL-2?"

"It is. Perhaps I can help you find it."

"You look awfully familiar," Doggett observed and studied the man hard.

"I don't believe we've been introduced, then. My name is Sydney." He held out his hand to the FBI agent, who accepted it firmly.

"Special Agent John Doggett."

"Special Agent? You're from the FBI?"

"That's right. It's pretty obvious to me now that I was misdirected on purpose—they don't want me to find this Lyle guy. And nothing's more suspicious to me than a man who hides his face from the law."

"Might I ask why you are investigating him?"

"I can't talk too much about it, sorry," Doggett shook his head.

Sydney traveled around his desk, sat, and motioned for Doggett to do the same. He held up his hand. "Look, it was nice to meet you, but I need to speak with..." he paused and reconsidered the invitation, "you said your name is Sydney? You were the one who did all those simulations with Jarod."

"A great majority of them, yes, I did," he nodded. "If you're here why I think you're here, then you should know some more about Mr. Lyle. His sins are not only limited to The Centre's boundaries."

"Is that so?" Doggett plopped himself down into the client chair in front of Sydney's bureau. "Then I'll be needing to ask you some questions, Sydney."

"I'll answer everything as truthfully as I can to help you." He shifted around in his chair and unplugged his phone. "I've kept my mouth shut long enough."

"Maybe something good will come out of their deception." Doggett pulled a notebook out of his suit jacket pocket along with a pen. "Now how long have you been working for The Centre?"

"My first year was 1961. I had just finished my degree in psychology, and I was eager to work with my brother again. He had been working for The Centre for two years already and told me of all the wonderful things they had accomplished."

"Like what?"

"The corporation began slightly after Eisenhower came into office; this was the main branch, and it has long multiplied in growth over the years. We assisted NASA to get onto its feet with the space program. We were also involved with NATO at its genesis. The Centre has helped millions of people, but unfortunately, has hurt many others at the same time. Their downfall started in 1963 when they kidnapped a little boy from his parents' home in the middle of the night," Sydney remarked.

"Was that Jarod?"

"Yes. He couldn't have been more than five or six years of age."

"So you kept him locked away from the world for about thirty years doing simulations. Did you know that some of these simulations were later used to commit crimes against humanity?"

Sydney swallowed a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball. "In the beginning, I had no idea. I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, and later on, as I found out that The Centre was lying to me, several people threatened my life. They also threatened to hurt Jarod if I didn't keep quiet."

"Might I ask who these people are?"

"The powers that be; some of the ones that make the most powerful decisions are not here in this office. Some of them are," he cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

"You mentioned you had a brother. Does he still work here?"

"No, Jacob passed away three years ago. He was involved in a car accident years ago, went into a coma, and died from its complications."

"I'm sorry," Doggett paused from his notes and made eye contact with Sydney. "So since Jarod's gone, what is it that you do now?"

"I still work with the gifted in the simulation lab, and I am a consultant on the team to retrieve Jarod."

"You want him back in _here_? I saw movies depicting complete torture of this poor man! This is the United States of America, pal. No one owns anyone anymore," Doggett pointed at Sydney with his pen.

"I realize that, Agent Doggett, but I never said that I was a willing participant on that team. None of us are."

"So let me get this straight. You're here to get your corporation's biggest cash crop back, but yet you don't want to? Forgive my ignorance, sir, but that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."

"I only want to protect him from being hurt. I...miss working with Jarod. He was the best Pretender The Centre ever had. When he's safe, I'll leave."

"Do they know how you feel about Jarod?"

"I don't think they truly do, no. If they knew, I'd be dead already." "Now why's that?"

"Because every time someone gets in The Centre's way, he or she is removed from the situation...permanently," Sydney sighed and picked up a half-empty mug to look inside of it.

"I see. Now, I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to get to this character Mr. Lyle. For one thing, who is he?"

"How much time do you have, Agent Doggett?"

"Eons, why?"

"It'll take a while to truly explain this man, and even then, I'm not sure that I could fully satiate you."

"Tell me everything you know."

"To do that, I'm going to have physically to show you some of the things he's done. Most of the evidence is circumstantial, but I'm sure you and the rest of your agents could find something better." Sydney arose from his seat and opened the door for Doggett. "Let's go."

"Where to?"

"A friend that can get you everything you need."

SL-8, The Centre, Blue Cove, Delaware

April 25th, 2001, 4:02 p.m.

Scully was also told to go through a pair of double doors, but she found the office unoccupied. A lingering scent that hung in the air told her that she was not in a man's office; unfortunately she could not identify it. Her eyes swept around the room and observed a glass case with a steel blue semi-automatic pistol that sat about three feet perpendicularly from the desk.

Normally Scully would sit in the chair in front of the bureau and wait until her host arrived, but something piqued her curiosity about this office's owner. She picked up a picture with a silver frame and studied a woman in her thirties grinning from ear to ear with a baby in her arms. Suddenly, one of the doors opened.

"Can I help you?" a deep and sarcastic voice inquired of Scully.

Scully spun around and took in a brunette that was a good six or seven inches taller than she; the woman wore an immensely short black skirt and a closely fitting maroon silk blouse. Scully's face remained non-plussed; she was not intimidated by this woman.

"Yes, you can," Scully replied. "You can tell me where Mr. Raines' office is."

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she snatched the picture away from Scully possessively. "Oh, really?"

Scully gave her full eye contact and leaned one hand on the desk. "Yes...really."

"You'll find him in Hell, and I sure as hell wish that I'll be the one sending him there," the woman spat and set the picture frame gently back on her bureau.

"Look, it's obvious that I'm being given a run-around here, and I'd appreciate it if you could at least point me in the right direction, Miss...-"

The brunette sighed heavily and crossed her arms. "Parker." She peered at the 'visitor' badge on Scully's blazer and did an about face to retreat behind her desk. Parker set the frame back into its place and sat down in her chair. "From the way you dress, I assume you must work for the government. IRS or FBI?"

"FBI." Scully turned to face Parker. "Now if you'd be so kind...-"

"Did you say you're investigating Mr. Raines...the former Dr. William Raines?"

"I really can't discuss any details with you, I'm sorry," she shrugged and glanced over at the encased gun. "Plan on using that anytime soon?"

"Not unless I'm provoked," Parker smirked and chortled sadistically.

"That's a .45 Colt, if I'm not mistaken. What exactly do you do, Miss Parker?"

"I'm a security consultant. It's my business to protect The Centre."

"Hmm...I'm assuming you have that gun licensed."

"Assume what you like. Just because I have a weapon on display doesn't mean that I have to have a permit for it—Delaware's laws aren't the same as Virginia's. You might want to check your handbook before dishing out accusations like that, Agent...-"

"Scully," she said defiantly and arched an eyebrow. "What precisely is it that you protect, Miss Parker?"

"The Centre's interests and investments. If there's a leak, I fix it."

Scully licked her upper lip, glanced down at her badge, ripped it off, and tossed it onto a seat in front of her. _This is going nowhere. I'm doing nothing but spinning my wheels_, she thought.

"Are you investigating The Centre or Mr. Raines?" Parker questioned her.

"For now, Mr. Raines. That's all I can say."

"If you really want to take him down, I can help you," Parker lowered her voice to a whisper.

"And why would you want to do that?" Scully briefly took a glimpse at the floor and returned her gaze to her companion.

"Because that man is a spawn of Satan, and evil does not belong in The Centre."

Scully nodded in agreement; Raines was a monster, and she had seen what he was capable of. She wasn't quite sure if she could trust Miss Parker, though. She seemed to be a very strong willed and impatient person—neither quality attracted Scully. However, Parker appeared to be offering up a bona fide gesture.

"So you've made your decision?" she asked.

"Assume what you like." She motioned to the photograph she'd been peering at earlier. "Is that woman your sister or your mother? She looks just like you."

"My mother. She was killed when I was very young." Parker directed her attention to the picture and stared at it longingly. "She was murdered in cold blood by Mr. Raines."

"Do you have proof of this accusation?"

"I do, but we have to be very careful of our actions. There are people who would...possibly try to remove us permanently if they knew of this information."

"Would they be loyal to Raines?"

"Yes. But you're going to have to trust me."

"I trust you as far as I can throw you," Scully quipped. "I have no reason to believe that anyone in this building has good intentions towards any American citizen here."

"And why would you think that?"

"Because of the way your company operates."

Parker's face became a question mark. "I don't understand."

"You don't deal with any foreign countries, do you, Miss Parker?"

"I personally don't, but The Centre has branches in Germany, France, and South Africa. Why do you ask?"

"Before I continue, I need some kind of verification from you that your actions and feelings are patriotic and conscientious towards our country."

"Oh...whoops, there goes my red card," Parker rolled her eyes and pretended to throw an object towards her. "_Please_ don't tell me you clueless g-people are out on the hunt looking for Commies again."

"You can rule that one out."

"Or wait...did I forget to mention that I had a bomb strapped to my chest?" She pointed to herself and then gave Scully an annoyed scowl. "You're in the wrong office if you're looking for a terrorist. And you're just starting to piss me off now. I'm offering you information, and all you have to do in return is accept it. What's the goddamned crime?"

"All right, so where is this information?" _I hope it's not on some wild goose chase._

"Follow me," Parker motioned with her head toward the door and arose.

"Where're we going?" Scully eyed her warily.

"On a field trip." They left the office and headed for the elevators.

SL-5, Tech Level, The Centre, Blue Cove, Delaware

April 25th, 2001, 4:31 p.m.

"What did you call these movies again?" Doggett asked the hazel eyed man sitting at his work station.

The man was very casually dressed and was just beginning to accumulate gray hair along his barren scalp. He nodded and leaned back in his chair. "They're called DSAs; digital simulation archives. We've been recording them since the '80s on these discs. Before that, they used magnetic tape, and well...we know how reliable _that_ can be after thirty plus years..."

"I'm not that familiar with technology, Mr. Broots."

"So who sent you these recordings?" Sydney questioned Doggett.

"I'm not at liberty to divulge how we got the information."

"Well, it's actually a pretty obvious answer, Sydney. Nobody else has access to DSAs except for people inside The Centre," Broots shrugged. "Sorry, Agent Doggett."

"Broots, make a copy of these DSAs and give it to Agent Doggett. He's our only saving grace at this point."

"What're you talking about?" Doggett wondered.

"We're not very popular around here; all three of us have a tie to..." Broots glanced around nervously and whispered his final word, "Jarod."

"3? I only see two of you."

"I don't think it'd be a wise idea to share this data, Broots. We should keep it only between the two of us...for now," Sydney declared.

"But...but what about Miss Parker?"

"Who's Miss Parker?" Doggett inquired.

"The terror of my life," Broots mumbled and stuck a CD into his computer.

"And you'd better not forget it," Parker's finger jabbed him in the kidneys as he bent over his PC tower.

"Ow! Miss Parker! What're you doing down here?" Broots yelped, immediately sat up straight, and rubbed himself in his sore spot.

"I work here...last time I checked," she smirked and glanced over at Sydney and Doggett. "But you...don't. Let me guess...he belongs to you." Parker pointed to Doggett, then to Scully.

"He doesn't belong to me. He's my partner," Scully corrected her.

"Indeed. Hmm...I didn't know the FBI was taking in Jimmy Stewart rejects."

To that snide remark, Doggett cleared his throat. "I'm Agent John Doggett. Might I ask who _you_ are?"

"This is Miss Parker," Sydney interjected. "Forgive me, Agent Doggett. Hello, my name is Sydney. This is Broots. And you must be..."

"Agent Dana Scully," Doggett finished before she could get a breath out. She glared angrily at him and returned her attention to Broots.

"I've been told you are the man to see about something called DSAs," Scully began.

"Oh, I've been compiling a bunch to give to your partner for the last ten minutes. It's burning now," Broots stated and motioned to the computer beneath him.

"Does it have the one with my mother's death...her _real_ death on it?" Parker asked.

"I...uh...I think so."

"You _think_? Make it...happen...now," she ordered through clenched teeth.

"W-w-why? I mean, there's more than enough data here to put Lyle behind bars for good."

"I want Raines out of business, too."

"One thing at a time. We can wait," Doggett held up his hand. "I had no idea once we started the investigation that it would be this big."

"How did you start, Agent Doggett?" Parker inquired.

"We received information from-"

"We've been watching your company's stocks and investments for about three months. We picked up a trail of EFTs to follow...and let's just say that your corporation is in for a heap of trouble," Scully interrupted him.

"How so?" Broots wondered.

"The electronic wiring was completed by the likes of two men. Two powerful men...that will pay for their sins."

"So...uh...since the three of us are helping you, does that mean that you're not gonna bust us?"

"They're not prosecuting The Centre, you moron, they're going for Lyle and Raines," Parker huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Is this true?" Sydney interjected and made eye contact with Scully.

"For now...yes," she answered and reached into her jacket pocket. "If you ever have a suspicion that either one of these men is going to commit another crime or harm you, please call us." Scully handed her business card to Parker. "We can protect you."

Parker sneered. "I only trust two men to do that." When Doggett and Scully gave her puzzled expressions, she tapped her hip holster. "Smith and Wesson."

"Well, I think it's a good idea," Broots announced and took a quick glimpse at Sydney, who nodded in agreement. "I've been living in fear in this place for way too long."

"Speaking of time, how long is this process going to take? The usual government wait? 10-14 business days?" Parker snipped.

"We'll let you know," Scully replied and accepted the disc from Broots. "Thank you, Mr. Broots." She turned around and went for the elevators.

"Wait a minute! What about the other stuff?" Doggett yelled and was on her heels instantaneously.

"I'm sure you wouldn't mind staying to get it. If I spend ten more seconds with that Parker woman, I'm gonna shoot somebody." She punched the call button. "I'll be waiting for you in the car."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Ft. Nexus, Honey Ridge, WV

April 25th, 2001, 11:49 p.m.

"Colonel, I don't know about you, but I'm at a total loss of words to explain what we just saw tonight," Capt. Scully told Jarod as they passed through the fort's main entrance. "I hope all those pictures survived that blast." He removed his digital camera from a pouch on his utility belt.

"Don't count on it. I bet the cloaking field we saw on that ship knocked out your memory card. It screwed up our night vision and spoiled our surprise attack," Jarod grumbled. "Next time, I take one man with me. That's it."

"It wasn't your fault, Colonel. Those other guys just got too gung ho—I call it the 'Bruce Lee conniption'. Some guys get a rush of adrenalin and think they're immortal. But it only takes one bullet."

"They're dead because I wasn't properly prepared."

"At least you know _how_ they died. Now we have to report the bad news to that woman...the Special Representative to the Secretary General," Capt. Scully lamented.

They traveled down the corridor without exchanging any more conversation for a few minutes until they came to the end of it. A squad of children stood in front of a steel door with crossed arms. They appeared to be guarding something; but why weren't they armed? This bewildered Jarod and made him feel highly uncomfortable.

"Captain, who are those kids?" He signaled Charles' attention to the children.

"Oh...I don't know. I've never been to this base before, but I've heard some awfully strange things about it. And now that I think of it, we've gotten some more air base brats recently at Bethesda, too. We never let the kids inside, though."

"Don't they appear to be keeping watch over something?"

Both of them stopped dead in their tracks and stared at the kids. They were paired side by side and stood at perfect attention. "I guess, but we shouldn't worry."

"Why do you say that?" Jarod questioned him.

"If it's our business to know, then we'll find out. Come on, Colonel, you know how it works. Unless you Army guys have got some kind of loose security."

"Hmmph, I guess you're right. She'll tell us if we need to know."

The two men journeyed down a set of stairs to the basement floor and nearly hit Marita Covarrubias with the door as they walked in. "Oh, sorry," Capt. Scully apologized.

"It's quite all right, Captain. What have you to report?" she queried.

"We started off with the GPS coordinates you gave us and went north. From there, my team split into two. We heard some strange noises coming from the east, so Captain Scully went with two of my men, and I went with the others in the opposite direction," Jarod explained.

"I told Jarod's men to be careful, especially since we had no idea what we were looking for," Capt. Scully went on. "They did listen to me for about five minutes, but when they saw that there was nothing visible, they complained that they got tired of crawling on their stomachs. Then they got up, started walking, and before I could yell to them to get down, zap."

"Did they get shot?" Covarrubias asked.

"You could say that—vaporized is the better term."

"Vaporized?"

"There was nothing left behind but their boots and weapons. Now I stayed on my stomach and crawled closer. As I leaned over to examine the evidence, I saw a flickering light out of the corner of my eye. It was about three feet away, and I tossed a pebble into it. I was expecting to see some of it be captured in light, not strike something and disappear," Capt. Scully remarked.

"So you encountered an invisible force field?"

"Well, I didn't see if the men actually touched it. I started to take pictures of the leftovers first."

"What did you do next?"

"I tried to radio Lt. Colonel Grant; our communication got broken somehow."

"My men became overzealous as well...but they didn't vaporize. They just vanished," Grant reported. "See, we saw a man over on our side of the forest. He had some kind of a tool or weapon in his hand and appeared to be working on something."

"_Something_, Colonel Grant?" Covarrubias demanded.

"Neither of my men could distinguish his actions. They were about twenty feet in front of me; I stayed behind to provide cover fire if needed. The man had his back turned to us, and my men wanted to investigate further."

"And?"

"They did—but as soon as I told them to hold off, they both screamed and disappeared. I ran in their direction but became repelled by something, and my night vision goggles began to overload. Naturally, I made some noise as I struggled to get the damn things off. The man that had had his back turned whirled around and rushed towards me. I don't remember anything until Captain Scully revived me," Grant recollected.

"It was only for a few moments, but I did see some kind of aircraft when I retreated to go look for Grant," Capt. Scully continued. "I managed to snap off a few shots; as soon as I found the Lt. Colonel, it turned invisible again."

"May I see these pictures?" Covarrubias inquired.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded and handed the camera to her.

"Is it on?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's on the correct setting to view the pictures as far as I know."

"It's not getting any power."

"I just put a new battery in this afternoon. What the hell..." He took it back and removed the cover. The energy source had melted into liquid copper and nickel. "Shit," he sighed. Capt. Scully then opened up the memory card slot and as suspected, the card had become one with the PC board. "I don't suppose this'll be covered under the Best Buy warranty."

"Well, how big do you estimate the craft was?" Covarrubias questioned him.

"Ahh...maybe twenty feet tall. I'm not sure how wide."

"Thank you, gentlemen, for your service. I'll see to it that you get reimbursed for the damage done to your camera, Captain," Marita finished and turned away.

"Just a minute, Ms. Covarrubias," Jarod began.

"Yes, Lt. Colonel? Was any of your equipment damaged as well?"

"Just the eye wear, but...forgive my curiosity, please. Captain Scully and I observed a group of children standing guard a few floors up. Might I inquire as to what they're guarding and why?"

"They're here as part of a junior ROTC program, Colonel Grant. Surely you've heard of junior boot camp?"

"Uh...I didn't...um, realize that there was one for kids that young, that's all."

"It's never too soon to begin to teach our young discipline, is it?" She smiled and acknowledged them before walking away.

"If they're part of a boot camp, then where's the instructor?" Jarod muttered, but Capt. Scully heard him.

"C'mon, Grant, we did our job for the evening. Let's get outta here."

"You go on ahead—I feel fine, now. I can drive."

"All right, Colonel, I trust you. It was nice to work with you," Capt. Scully said and held out his hand.

"The feeling is mutual." The Pretender shook hands with him. "Tell me, Capt. Scully, did you know that your sister's child is missing?"

"What're you talking about?"

"I saw the news this evening."

"My sister can't have children..." Capt. Scully disagreed. "At least, that's what I heard from her last year."

"Then you didn't know that she gave birth earlier this year?"

"She did? Why didn't she tell me?" he whispered the last question to himself.

"That's a very valid query. I'd like to find out what's inside that room."

"I can't go with you, Grant. I've got a family to get back to."

"I understand. Just please promise me that if I need your help, you'll give it to me without hesitation."

Capt. Scully bit his lip and frowned. "What do you expect from me?"

"A little trust."

Charles sighed, pulled out his wallet, and withdrew a card. "This has my cell as well as my home phone. You don't think that my sister's kid got kidnapped by that woman, do you?" he lowered his volume.

"She was interrupted from investigating someone that had clandestine ties to the local law enforcement by this crime. It's a hunch, but right now, it's the only one I've got."

"Call me when you have something more. I've got to go." He saluted Jarod and left his presence.

Mulder's Apartment, Alexandria, Washington, D.C.

April 26th, 2001, 7:18 a.m.

Three staccato knocks brought Mulder to the door with his coffee mug in hand. He was entirely surprised to open it and see Scully on the other side.

"Oh, hi Scully. C'mon in," he said and scratched the back of his head.

"Sorry to bother you, but there were reporters mobbing my doorstep at 6:30 this morning as I was trying to get ready for work." She rushed in with her overnight bag and strode quickly to his bathroom.

"Did you talk to them?" Mulder followed her and drank from his mug when he arrived in the bathroom doorway.

"Not at all." Scully lifted the bag up to the counter, unzipped it, and tossed various makeup items into the empty sink.

"Uh, Scully...did you..." He glanced at her worriedly and then reached out to tap her.

"God, Mulder! What!"

"Did you have any coffee this morning yet?"

"Not even a drop. I had just started the pot when they started to bang on the door," she fumed and started to apply her foundation.

"Here," he proffered his mug towards her. "No sugar. I know you're not a big fan of black-"

She accepted it and downed a large gulp of the beverage. "Thank you."

"You still keep me guessing," he chuckled. "Are you in the mood to talk, or are you rushing to the Hoover like the speed of sound?"

"Well..." She set the mug down and began her mascara. "Doggett was late yesterday...I guess I could slow down a bit."

"How about some breakfast?" He turned around and went into his living room.

"I don't know, Mulder..."

"Come on, I'll make you a bagel...with _real_ cream cheese."

"Are you trying to fatten me up or what? I just got rid of that extra weight from the pregnancy!" she shouted.

"I'll toast it just barely in my oven—I've even got the flavored kind," he sang and traveled to the kitchen.

"Well..." Scully capped the mascara, set it down, and pursued him. She glanced down and eyed herself cautiously.

"For Pete's sake, Scully, stop worrying about the calories for once and eat something that tastes good," he growled and opened his refrigerator.

"Okay," she shrugged. "Thanks, Mulder."

"So...you went to Delaware yesterday?"

"How'd you-"

"You called me on your way home last night, remember? You said you needed to talk to someone or else you were inclined to fall asleep behind the wheel."

"Oh. I don't remember much of what I told you, sorry," Scully shrugged and lifted the coffee to her lips again.

"Just that you and Doggett didn't get to meet Raines and Lyle, but you did manage to pick up some more footage of illicit activities being done in The Centre."

Mulder closed the fridge and slid the two bagel halves into his toaster. He retrieved another coffee mug from a cupboard and poured some more for himself.

"Was that all I said?"

"Well, I think you also mentioned that you met some people, but you didn't describe them very well. Can you remember now?"

"Yes, very well. There were three people; two men and a woman."

"Who appealed to you the most?"

"Hmm?"

"If you ever happened to meet one of them again, which one would you definitely strike up a conversation with?"

"I'll tell you whom I would _not_," Scully paused, "that Parker woman. Argh, she was frustrating."

"What'd she look like?"

"One of your _Playboy_ centerfolds with her clothes on."

"Scully, I didn't subscribe to _Playboy_!" Mulder's face scrunched itself into self indignation briefly, and then he broke into a grin. "It was _Celebrity Skin_."

"Whatever," she pursed her lips and gave him a disintegrating stare.

"Note that I used the past tense, Scully." He opened another cabinet and slid a plate in front of Scully. "Please sit." Mulder waited until she did and served her the bagel. "So what's your next move against The Centre?"

"Mulder, did you know that this Jarod who sent the Gunmen this information was the same one we met in Indianapolis?"

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I might have had an inclination towards it, yes."

"Why didn't you say anything about it?"

"Well, we were so consumed with the oil case at the time; it just didn't seem to be the appropriate action then."

"I thought we were past this," she sighed and dug a knife into the cream cheese.

"What?"

"The secrecy...the hiding...the lack of trust."

"Scully, I completely trust you."

"Yet you didn't think to mention that this man was the victim of terrible crimes or an instrument used to create them."

"Well, I-"

Before Mulder could finish, Scully's cell phone interrupted their disagreement. She retrieved it from her suit coat pocket regretfully. "Scully."

"Agent Scully, this is SAC Tony Capricci, from Organized Crime," the voice announced.

"Yes, sir, how can I help you?"

"Well, first of all, you can stop calling me sir. Crimony, Agent Scully, I'm younger than you are. Secondly, I wanted you to know that I found out what those fibers were from that we found in your mom's home."

"I'm listening," Scully replied coolly. Although internally, she was about ready to pounce on him impatiently almost like that woman from The Centre.

"We matched them up to some military uniforms. The fibers were from the Black Berets, we think, but we're not absolutely positively sure."

"Why's that?"

"Well, their uniforms are always changing, and you of all people know how secret the military is. We don't know if the stuff matches what they currently wear, and that'll take some finagling."

"I appreciate what you've done so far, Agent Capricci."

"Then just call me Tony, will ya? I only call you Agent Scully 'cause I hear you're a formal type of a lady, and I respect that. It's not too often to meet a woman nowadays in our field that's also a lady."

"Even the ones you dated?"

"Oh, you heard about that?" he snickered sheepishly. "Well, it was bound to come out into the open someday, I guess..."

"Tell me, Tony...-why did you...?"

"Try to screw two women at the same time?"

Mulder heard that last retort and snorted. Scully's agitated eyebrow began to twitch in his direction, to which he grinned maniacally and stepped behind her to avoid a playful swat. "Uh, yeah," she answered and turned her head as she tried to locate her partner with her peripheral vision.

"It was a challenge, all right—to juggle them. And it gave me great pleasure to know that two women desperately wanted me. I mean, both of them were physically great and gave me everything I wanted, but Rita was the one that actually wanted to listen to me instead of just get down to business...if you know what I mean. The other...well...let's just say that she could be a real dominatrix."

_Oh, I couldn't see that at all_, Scully thought.

"So...any more news?" she wondered aloud cautiously.

"Other than that, no, I'm...uh...I'm sorry, Agent Scully. Your suspect list is rather short and ambiguous, I'm afraid. We're having trouble diagnosing a proper M.O."

"You want to know why? I'll tell you why! Because I was getting too close to their operation in Indianapolis, whatever it was, and they're using my son against me. I'm trapped, Agent Capricci, in a no-win situation."

"Uh, does this mean that you want me to give this case to VCS?"

"No. You appear to be an astute and clever man, Tony. It's too bad that you didn't apply to the X-Files Division earlier; we could've used a man like you."

"It's funny you should mention that...-"

Scully's phone beeped twice, and she drew it away from her ear to glance at the caller identification in the window. "I'm sorry, Tony, but my mom's on the other line. I'm going to have to let you go," she told him.

"I understand. Goodbye, Agent Scully."

"Thank you, Agent Capricci. Hello, Mom?"

"Good morning, dear. I tried to call you at work, but I got your voice mail. Where are you, Dana?" Maggie inquired.

"I'm at Mulder's right now."

"Oh. I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

"Just some breakfast, that's all," Scully informed her and shoved a large bite of the bagel into her mouth.

"Well, I got one of the strangest phone calls this morning, Dana. It was from your brother, Charles."

"Charlie? Isn't he overseas?"

"No, he's been home for about two weeks now. And he wanted to know about you, dear."

"Doesn't he have my cell phone number? I was sure that I gave it to his wife last Thanksgiving when she came over your house."

"It's possible, Dana, but he phoned me to ask me a very odd question. I don't believe that you didn't tell him before, sweetheart, he's your brother."

"Tell him what?"

"That you had William, of course!"

"What else did he want to know?"

"Well, I told him that you're managing as usual, like your father did, to hide all of your emotions and be the strongest Scully of the family."

"Stability breeds success."

"Undoubtedly so, Dana, but don't be afraid to give into your emotions every now and then...perhaps in the arms of someone you love." Scully spun around and reached for Mulder's hand. He took hers and gently squeezed it.

"Mom, I hate to do this, but I've got to go. I'll be late for work."

"That's fine, dear. I just thought you should know that your brother's in town and cares. He says that he's going to do everything in his power to help you. I love you Dana."

"I love you, too, Mom." Scully closed her phone and brushed her cheek with the antenna lightly.

"What's up with your mom?" Mulder inquired and began to stroke her hand.

"My brother's back and wants to know about William."

"I find that an interesting concatenation. Coincidental, do you think?"

"I wish I could be sure. I know he's in the Air Force, but...you of all people know how the military can be." She sighed and released herself from his grip. "This new evidence that SAC Capricci informed me of is troubling, too. He said that our labs found fibers of military uniforms, specifically from the Black Berets."

"Those aren't under the hospices of the Air Force, are they?"

"No...they operate under the Army. They're pretty elite, though."

"Where does your brother operate from...Bethesda Air Base?"

"Probably."

"Why don't you take a trip out there and ask him?" Mulder asked her and picked up the other half of her bagel. "Are you going to eat this?"

"No. I've got to get to the office, anyhow." She arose and pocketed her cell phone.

"Now wait a second, Scully." Her hands went to her hips, and he deftly wiped at the corner of her mouth while still holding the bagel.

"I suppose thanks are in order."

"Well, I'd settle for actions rather than words." He tossed the food back onto the plate and invaded her personal space. "Did you put on your lipstick yet?"

"I did, actually."

"Scullee..." he whined and leaned in. "Why'd you do that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I was planning on going into work today and looking like a professional..."

"Mmm...well..." Mulder went in for the kill, and she didn't stop him. She just couldn't; he felt too warm and she had ached for him yesterday but didn't want to admit to the feeling. She was still in self-denial that he only wanted her for the simple convenience of her being the only female in his life and not for who she truly was. But yet he had told her that he loved her. Did he really mean it, or did he just say it because he wanted to make love?

She let him drive and he broke away numerous times, only to just barely separate their mouths and cement them back together again as soon as they each took a breath. But he would not be satisfied; he needed more contact. He pulled her body closer to his, and this time as his lips left hers, she gently slid out of his embrace. "Scully, no," he breathed.

"Mulder, I've got to get to work."

"But-"

"I want to find our son, don't you? And get the bad guys in Blue Cove?"

Mulder sighed and let her travel back into his bathroom. A few moments later, she re-appeared at the door and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek. "Remember, you owe me one, FBI woman," he warned her as he opened the door.

"Owe you what?"

"Twelve minutes, for starters."

"You make it sound so quixotic, Mulder. No doubt you leave those $1.99 a minute hotl-line women frenzied and breathless."

"I'll make it last all night if you let me." That message alone ran shivers up and down her spine, and for once in a long while, she blushed.

"I'm...not sure. I need...time. Please, don't rush a good thing."

"I'll wait ten more years if I have to, Scully, but I'm certain only of this; you are my life and my joy. No other woman has made me feel like you—no one."

She turned and made direct eye contact with him. "Really? And what would you say if I quit the X-Files after Will is back?"

"I'd ask where your new office was so I can come bug you," he smiled. Scully bent down, picked up his morning paper, and handed it to him.

"Have a good day, Mulder. You might want to get rid of that," she motioned to his lips. "It's simply not your color."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Ft. Nexus, Honey Ridge, WV

April 26th, 2001, 4:46 p.m.

"I can't believe...I'm doing this," Capt. Charles Scully stuttered as he got into Jarod's jeep after he pulled it inside the gates. "I was supposed to report to Bethesda an hour ago. You'd better have a good reason for dragging me down here, Lt. Colonel."

"Would you mind if we stuck with Jarod and Charles?" Jarod shifted gears and eased the jeep slowly down the base's main driveway.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Grant? Lose your protocol?"

"No, I just prefer to be called Jarod," the Pretender shrugged.

"Well, I'd rather not. This is the military, Grant. We're not buddies," Capt. Scully barked. "And where are we going, anyway?"

"Can't you see? We're taking a nice leisurely drive into the base." Grant grinned roguishly, and his companion rolled his eyes.

"I told my major that I had a family emergency, Grant. You said that you found my sister's son. Now where is he?"

"In there." Jarod signaled Capt. Scully's attention to the fort ahead of them and turned left at the intersection.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Charles glanced at Jarod, whose eyes and features had hardened very suddenly. He didn't look like some kid out for a joyride in a toy car; this was a man who had seen some terrible things. And they weren't open for discussion.

"Can I ask what your interest in this is, Lt. Colonel?"

"I'm a man who thinks that families are very important, Captain. They shouldn't be torn apart from one another." Jarod drove the jeep under the shade of a tree and put it into park. "Don't you agree?"

"My father taught me how important we are to one another," Capt. Scully nodded. "He was a Naval Captain, and he always brought us together for the holidays at the Scully house, no matter what. But I don't understand why my sister's child is here, at a military fort in West Virginia."

"Is that really necessary for your assistance?"

"Well, let's just put it this way, Grant," he shifted around in his bucket seat and faced Jarod. "It'll make me trust you a helluva lot faster."

"I can't positively confirm all of my suspicions to you, Scully, but yesterday, I happened to find my way into the surveillance room and saw a baby being tested upon. It was the same room being guarded by all those children we saw."

"Tested? Why would they be testing William?"

"I also managed to overhear some conversation between Ms. Covarrubias and some other older gentleman. They were talking not too far from me. This facility is going to be used for the development of...a higher technology."

"And that surprises you because? Might I remind you that besides the space program, we're America's #1 priority?" Capt. Scully sneered.

"They weren't talking about just defending America from other countries and terrorists, Captain. They spoke of other beings' presence in our orbit."

"What kind of beings? Monkeys from another planet here to wipe us out?"

"I don't know, but now that I think of it, I wonder if that man we saw in Stonewall Jackson Lake, was really anthropocentric. Perhaps that was an illusion."

"You're talking bullshit to me, Grant. I'm a pilot, not a scientist, remember?"

"You understand physics, Captain. How do you explain a cloaking field? How do you explain the fact that that ship you saw the other night simply disappeared into thin air? Or that its technology practically melted your digital camera?"

"I don't care. I'm here to get my sister's kid back and hopefully, get home for dinner," Capt. Scully checked his wristwatch.

"You said you wanted an explanation."

"What the hell does that have to do with William?"

"Maybe...he can help bridge the gap...between us...and them. And maybe this woman wants to find out how."

"Maybe you got knocked out harder than you thought, Grant." Jarod got out of the jeep and opened the trunk. He unlatched a silver briefcase, removed an explosive device from it, and set the bomb down in the back seat.

"What in god's name do you think you're doing!" Capt. Scully yelled.

"I'll be needing your help now, Captain." He fiddled with the timer and set the LED number display to a countdown from twelve minutes. "And please keep your voice down, lest you want to attract attention to us early."

"What do you need from me?"

"An F-15 from Bethesda is visiting this base today in the west hangar. It's about a five or six minute walk from here," Jarod pointed Charles in the right direction. "By the time you get the engines up and running, this device will go off. Exactly ninety seconds from the detonation, you'll be taking off with the jet."

"And go where?"

Grant shrugged. "You're the pilot; you decide."

"I can't make a $20 million plane disappear!"

"David Copperfield did it," he beamed widely. Once he noticed Charles' scowl reappear, his smile died down. "I'm sure you can figure out something clever."

"Just how long do you need me to be in the air?"

"Two to three minutes at minimum."

"And just how do you plan to walk out this base...without being stopped twenty feet from the front door?"

"Let's put it this way...before I became a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army, I was a coroner. Then before that I did some white water rafting instruction. And just slightly before then, I was a demolition expert."

"Am I supposed to think that's funny?"

"Nope, I'm just informing you that I've been trained in the art of bomb fabrication," Jarod said and pressed two buttons simultaneously. "You can do whatever you want, Captain—I can't force you to drink your water."

"What?" Capt. Scully gave him a puzzled look.

"You know, the saying. It has something to do with forcing someone to drink water. I can't remember exactly how it goes since I've only been out in the world for about five years now..."

"You mean 'you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink'."

"Right," Jarod agreed. "That's it. But if I were you, I'd get out of this jeep. I estimate the blast radius to be about thirty feet. And if you don't want to do this, I'll understand. I did come with a contingency plan."

"Wuh...I don't get you, man, but I'll do anything to help out my sister. She helped me get through high school, and if anyone tries to hurt her, I'll break his neck."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another plant another charge. Good luck, Captain Scully. I hope we meet again. Perhaps under a different profession."

He and Charles parted ways from the jeep, and Jarod made his way over to an ammunition station. The Pretender placed his bomb under another tree near there then proceeded towards the side parking lot of Ft. Nexus. He walked up to a BMW, glanced around the area, and threw a baseball through the passenger window.

The car alarm immediately began to sound off, and he calmly journeyed away from it while several soldiers came to investigate the noise. Meanwhile, the side entrance was unguarded, and he let himself in with his card. A few sentries watched him as he walked down the hallway towards the room where William was being held. He whistled to himself mindlessly as he stole a glimpse at a nearby clock. "Five...four...three...two..." he counted down and suddenly, the first explosion went off near the ammunition station.

Soldiers from nowhere suddenly filled the corridors armed and rushed past Jarod to see what the commotion was. He turned and pretended to be interested in the chaos but then continued on his mission. More men and women ran toward the west ammunition station, but none of this phased the Pretender. Jarod checked his watch this time but only mouthed his countdown since he was nearing the room. This catastrophe occurred in the jeep; it caused a third and fourth call of troops to sprint into action.

Jarod picked his way into the surveillance room again and silenced the internal alarms that had been going off throughout the fort's P.A. System. He next slid a CD into a player and began to play it. The strains of "Turkey in the Straw" done on MIDI tracks and a sing-song voice-over of "Hey, kids, come on and get your free ice cream!" ran through the horns now. He hoped that the idea would work, after all, the Adams and Eves were somewhat normal children. "I'm over here!" the pre-recorded voice called to them.

The Pretender eyed the camera angles that surrounded Will's cell, and the children did actually respond to the audio. Their heads turned in the direction of the speakers. So Jarod turned the volume of the CD up a bit. "Hey kids, come on and get your free ice cream! Be quick now! I'm over here!"

As he had hoped, the boys and girls lost their focus. They spun around towards the loudspeakers, and Jarod quickly shut off the hallway's zones as he watched them walk down the hallway to follow the beckoning voice.

When the Adams and Eves were no longer in viewing range, he burst out of the room. If Captain Scully had done his job correctly, he would be in the air right now and buy him at least another minute. Jarod sneaked out and made his way into Will's room.

The baby was asleep when Jarod came in, but as soon as he undid the restraints around William's wrists, the boy awoke. "Shh...you don't know me, William, but my name is Jarod. I'm here to help you get back to your mom," he whispered and grabbed the child, along with his blanket. "Whoops. I almost forgot to leave a present," Jarod muttered.

With one hand grasping the child to his chest, Jarod removed a disc from his belt and slipped it onto the bed that William had been sleeping in. "Shh...William. Stay quiet. I'm going to take you to your mother where you'll be safe. No one will be able to harm you again," he soothed to keep the baby silent.

Thankfully, the child had fallen back into a peaceful slumber again despite all the raucous. Just as Jarod came out of the door, he nearly ran right into Marita Covarrubias and the Well-Manicured Man. "No, I don't know why those explosions went off. Lt. Colonel? What're you doing?" she demanded.

Jarod clutched the child with both hands closer to himself and kept running.

"Stop! Stop that man!" Covarrubias shouted.

Fortunately, as help came to her, Jarod had already gotten around the corner and out of sight. He dashed out the east entrance opposite of his entry and caught a moment of an F-15 doing a fly-by past a communications tower.

Half an hour later...

The Well-Manicured Man, Covarrubias, and two other men in uniform trudged into William's cell. "Who was that man?" the Well-Manicured Man inquired.

"That was a ranking officer in the Army I had hired to be part of the second reconnaissance team in Stonewall Jackson Lake. He seemed to be a good man," Marita replied and shook her head in disbelief.

"What exactly did he know about William?"

Covarrubias bit her knuckle and lifted both hands up in question. "I...I can't even begin to answer that. He did ask me yesterday what was being guarded in this room, but I dismissed him and said that the Adams and Eves were Junior ROTCs."

"Sir, this was left on the child's bed," one man told the Well-Manicured Man and surrendered a DVD to him.

"Perhaps this will give us all our answers," the older man said. He placed the DVD into a player in a nearby entertainment center, and Marita turned on the TV.

"Hello. For those of you who do not know me, my name is Jarod," the Pretender waived to his audience. "This recording was made for the sole purpose to explain why your juvenile pet project was suddenly wisked away from you under your very noses."

"I wonder how far back his treachery goes," Covarrubias muttered.

"I'm not really a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army, as you just now were wondering. You see, my connection to you goes back even farther than 2 days. I happened to meet an FBI pathologist at a convention in Indianapolis, and we discovered your little secrets there. But of course, you tried to cover everything up. First you murdered the experiments, next the willing and stupid participant known as your patsy, and then the only member of the local police that actually gave a damn about the case. I must admit, you're very clever people, and you planned out your chess game very well. But now you have a new opponent." Jarod pointed to himself and shifted around in his chair.

"And I've studied your previous strategies used by a man that caused great afflictions to Agents Mulder and Scully, a CGB Spender. Now it seems like you're trying to follow his exact same footsteps—bad idea. I know every single thing this man has ever done, and I promise you, that should you continue down this evil path, you will suffer a terrible fate. I don't know what led to his disappearance, but I know what can ruin a black syndicate. And that would be the truth."

"I thought we had all of Spender's files sealed," the Well-Manicured Man snapped at Covarrubias.

"We did," she replied.

"Then how did _he_ get to them?"

"I'm no ordinary man. I have the ability to become anyone I want to be. I live my life in shadow...by no choice of my own, where you people seem to wallow in it. So since you saw it fit to kidnap a child from his mother and take him away from his security, I thought...that it would be poetic to do nearly the same thing to you. I sent them Spender's files; they should be arriving in about five minutes, just in time for the six o'clock news. It's time for you to answer to the people for what havoc you've caused upon their soil."

"What the hell is he talking about?"

Before Marita could say another word, her cell phone rang. "Yes, this is Marita. The press is here? How many vehicles are there?"

"Perhaps we can deflect them somewhere else," the Well-Manicured Man offered, and Marita held up her hand to silence him.

"They're demanding to see me? No, don't send them off. The last thing we need now is for the media to be sniffing us out and hunting us down like wild game. Just hold them off for now; I'll be out to speak to them in five minutes."

"You're going out_ there_?" the older man inquired angrily. "Do you even realize what this will mean for our group? For our efforts?"

"They know who I am, sir. I can't refute that, nor can I deny my involvement in a military base." She closed up her cell phone and turned off the television.

"Do you think this man...this Jarod sent them information about Indianapolis?"

"I won't find out until I go out there. But I can assure you that the answers I give will be like the typical ones used by any modern politician. The key is to talk around the issue, give hopeful insight to the future, and apologize for what they already know to be true. It's worked for fifty years ever since the news began to broadcast on television. Why should it be any different now?" Covarrubias smirked and shrugged. "You forget my specialty, sir. I'm a diplomat; I've kept many nations out of war and embargoes for ten years. I'm not about to let all of our hard work go to the dogs because of one man's voice."

"I understand, then. By all means, please continue." He opened the cell's door for her and accompanied Marita down the corridor. "I must get back to the UK. There are some things brewing up there that must be dealt with appropriately."

"The IRA?"

"No, the Prime Minister's thinking about banning stem cell research, and I'm due for tea with him tomorrow afternoon to convince him otherwise."

"How are things in Indianapolis, by the way?"

"Isn't that your venture?" The Well-Manicured Man patted her on the shoulder and took off down another hallway to another exit. Marita closed her eyes and prepared herself for the worst as she made her way to the front of Ft. Nexus.

"Ms. Covarrubias, what are your connections?" one reporter fired away.

"Ms. Covarrubias, are you working on cloning?" another asked.

"Ms. Covarrubias, are there aliens on American soil?" the next demanded. "And if so, do they have friendly or hostile intentions towards us?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening. My name is Marita Covarrubias, and I am the Special Representative to the Secretary General at the UN. I will endeavor to answer your questions as honestly as I possibly can."

"I have an anonymous tip about a crash in Stonewall Jackson Lake Park. What can you tell us about that?"

Covarrubias inwardly cringed; she didn't estimate that Jarod had gone that far. _If I ever locate that man, he will regret life itself. Hmm...that doesn't sound like a bad idea. FBI's Most Wanted Top Ten? The notion is very tempting._

"Well, we sent out two teams, and they returned to us with quite a bit to report," she began.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

April 26th, 2001, 9:16 p.m.

The kitchen table was totally cluttered with manila files and papers, but the chaos all made sense to Mulder, who was working at the head of the table. He occasionally got up for a photograph or to return a single piece back to the pile but always returned to his original seat. Scully had been kind enough to buy him several yellow legal pads; she knew that once he started to profile, he had to have a prolific amount of paper in front of him or else he'd write on something else. And she didn't mind spending the extra money on it. Once he'd gotten a little careless in a moment of brilliance, and a Sharpie smudge accidentally ended up on her grandmother's hand-sewn napkins. A total time period of 72 hours was spent in mortal fear without a word or a glimpse of Scully.

She entered without a verbal greeting; she knew how entranced he could get in a profile once he began. Scully disposed of her personal belongings on the table with her land line and then meandered her way into the kitchen to put on the kettle. After she started the water, she took a peek at Mulder.

He was wearing his reading glasses, and although they were meant to aid his far-sighted vision, they did something inexplicable to her while he wore them. She knew he had a dazzlingly profound mind; she supposed that the lenses just forced her to focus in on his hazel eyes. It was an irrational feeling; the inner female spirit in her was just dying to be exposed after waiting so long. Now there was absolutely no excuse to hide anything except her own fear. "Mulder," she bravely cleared her throat, "would you like some tea?"

"Hmm...what?" he called from the table.

"Would you like some tea? I'm already boiling some water."

"Please." He paused. "Hey, Scully, can you come in here for a second?"

"I'll be right there." Scully poured the water into the mugs, turned off the range, and joined him at his side. "Hi," she whispered and ran her fingers through his hair. "What's up?"

"I think I've figured out your head corporate guy...this Mr. Lyle...to a 't'. He's a classic sociopath; he shows no mercy in his crimes whatsoever. He lacks mercy, feelings, and a general care for fitting into society as a whole. I do blame it partially on his childhood; his foster father did physically abuse him. Most of the abused children I've read about later turn out to be abusers later on; a behavior learned early on is a behavior later executed in life. The child believes that this is part of his or her identity. A rule is broken, and therefore, the one who commits the felony must pay dearly."

"Didn't they find evidence of his doing so with Asian women?"

"That's what I've been studying for the last ten minutes," Mulder nodded and rolled his neck around slowly. "Where were you today?"

"Visiting a few old crime scenes with the teams from Quantico to see if we could scrape up any evidence to support those videos that woman Parker gave us."

"And what of them?"

"There was only one place that hadn't been fully wiped clean. And it'll be difficult to prove that much happened there. Our only witness is 9 years old. I'm not sure how credible his testimony will be in court," she shrugged. "Doggett plans on targeting The Centre's financial transactions tomorrow. I won't be going with the team...-"

"Why not?"

"SAC Capricci wants to go visit Ft. Nexus tomorrow, and I said I'd go with him."

"Where's that? And why?"

"It's in West Virginia—it's a training post for the Black Berets," Scully informed him.

"And you think William is there," Mulder finished for her softly.

"Yeah," she nodded. "So, uh, do you think he's a coward—Lyle?"

"No. He doesn't seem to be the type to be afraid of anything, with the exception of possibly facing his dark past. Why do you ask?"

"He's supposed to be at that meeting in Rhode Island tomorrow. This looks like this could be our one and only chance at apprehending him." She spun around and went towards the mugs resting on the counter.

"Scully, before I commence my profile of Mr. Raines, I'd like to know something."

"What is it, Mulder?" She removed the tea bags and threw them into the garbage.

"You mentioned leaving the X-Files. Do Reyes or Doggett know this?"

"Well, I think Monica heard us talking about it over at Mom's place. I haven't mentioned it to John yet."

"Is it because I'm not over there at the Hoover anymore?"

Scully had just begun to pick up their tea but now suddenly could not.

"It's a culmination of things," she replied.

"But I'm still working with you—most of the cases you bring home are legitimate X-Files."

"I don't know if you'll ever understand how I feel about the X-Files, Mulder, since the division is your brainchild and your life's work."

"Well, please tell me, Scully. Make me understand."

"Although the last nine years of my life have been spent in that office and in the passenger seat of a rental more times than I care to remember, all I ever wanted to do was help people when I joined the FBI. I wanted to find the truth and be recognized for doing a job well."

"And you think you wasted your career because of me...because of my bull-headed pursuits," he murmured disconcertingly and hung his head low.

"No. I haven't wasted my career, Mulder. Neither have you." She faced him and brought the mugs over to the table.

"You've got to be kidding. People laugh when they hear the name Spooky; I bet there are rumors still going on about the two of us. Kersh almost wasn't going to let Doggett, Reyes, and you start investigating The Centre because it was my idea. Does that sound like a respectful reputation to you?"

"SAC Capricci respects you. He says you gave up too easily."

"I got tired of pissing in the wind Scully," Mulder shrugged and sipped some tea from his ceramic.

"I didn't want to leave the X-Files before because I saw something different in you that I couldn't see in myself—perseverance. But now you're taking a defeatist attitude, and I don't think I could continue to work on a project or case that I don't feel the same about. That's what I meant when I said earlier that when you left, the X-Files Division died. It lacks your propulsion, your vision."

"You _do_ miss me," the corners of his mouth turned up.

"In a sort of...irrational and illogical way, yes," Scully sighed, "I guess I do."

"I miss being able to put my feet on my desk." He eyed the table, gazed up at her, and when he received a disparaging eyebrow from her, he smiled gleefully.

"If certain parties...were removed from authority...and others happened to...replace them, do you think you could find it in your heart to come back?"

"I think that office is already crowded, don't you think?"

"Who said there only had to be one office?" She took a drink from her mug, and a knock on her door surprised the both of them. Scully set her beverage down, went to answer it, and received nearly the biggest shock of her life when she saw Jarod standing there with William in his arms.

"Sorry I couldn't get him back to you any sooner. I had to dodge a few roadblocks," he apologized and handed the baby to a very stupefied Scully.

"I..I...won't you...uh...please come in?" she asked as he gave her a broad grin and nodded.

Mulder heard the commotion, rose from his chair, and nearly pounced on the sight of his son in Scully's arms. "My God. H-h—how did you...-" he began.

"I followed a lead from Agent Scully," Jarod remarked.

"What!" Scully shouted and rushed into her bedroom to place the boy back into his rightful crib. She then joined both men who were now lounging in her living room. "What did I say?"

"You mentioned the DOD, that's all."

"I...I don't get it," she shook her head.

"You don't have to; just continue to be a good mom."

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done," Mulder started. "But I am rather curious as to where you found-"

"Let's just say that he was in a place where babies should _not_ be...where no child should have to grow up alone," Jarod replied.

"Thank you, Jarod. Is there something we could do for you in return?" Scully inquired.

"You already did help me; I just returned the favor."

"So what became of the case in Indiana?" Mulder questioned him.

"I left to pursue...another interest, but I did leave some names behind. And hopefully, Sgt. Riker will be behind bars soon for her treason. That was a terrible thing she did; if Will hadn't been kidnapped, she might have received some quick lessons in justice."

"What do you mean by that?" Scully pressed.

"Uh..." Another knock came to the door; Jarod hopped up from his seat first and opened it.

"That'll be $14.99, mister," an Asian American teenager told him and offered Jarod a stack of Chinese food in cardboard takeout boxes.

"Just wait a second, Brian," Mulder called and dug out his wallet. He gave the young man a ten and a five, to which Brian rolled his eyes and left.

"Thanks, big spender."

"Mulder, how much did you tip the delivery boy?" Scully asked and stood.

"Enough for his weekend allowance," Mulder answered and directed Jarod to the kitchen countertops. "Thanks, Jarod. Hey, would you like some? We were talking about Chinese a couple of days ago, weren't we?"

"Yes, we were. But I think I'd better leave you two alone," Jarod chuckled.

"Nonsense, there's plenty here," Scully urged him.

"No, really, I couldn't impose. However, if I might ask to just try out the hard noodle wrapped in plastic?" He gestured to the cookie on top as Mulder folded the cardboard flaps back.

"The fortune cookie?" Mulder inquired. "You've never had one of those before?"

"Oh, _that's _what they're called. No--never."

"You're in for a treat. Go ahead." Jarod took the cookie and unwrapped it as Mulder and Scully looked on with pleasure. It reminded Scully of watching her brothers at Christmas—Charles, in particular. "Now just break it in half at the middle. Good."

"Oh, and here's the fortune," Jarod enthused and read the paper. He frowned and scratched his head.

"What's wrong?" Scully demanded.

"Well, it's not very truthful." The Pretender grimaced and handed the scrap to Mulder.

"Your happy marriage will soon turn sharply to the left. Look out for trouble ahead," Mulder read. "Um...well...no one ever said that the fortunes were correct. I had one say that all of my choices would be well made, and that my life would be full of contentment. I can't say that I've had either of those two things happen to me very often—until recently," he said and glanced at Scully.

"So what does it taste like?" Jarod asked him.

"Oh, it's got a flavor of its own. I can't really explain it, you just have to try it and find out for yourself."

Jarod shrugged and inserted part of the cookie into his mouth. He ate about a quarter of the bakery and threw the rest of it into a wastebasket. "I like ice cream better."

"I have to agree," Scully remarked.

"Do you happen to have some?" His eyes lit up as she traveled to her freezer and handed him a pint of Edy's Dreamery.

"Go on, take it. It's the least I can do to repay your generosity."

"Thank you. Oh, and you won't have to worry about Marita Covarrubias bothering you anytime soon. I've taken care of her...for a while." Jarod waived a goodbye to them and walked out the door before either could stop him for any further query.

"I guess that's a question the Gunmen could answer...later on...if you're still curious," Mulder retreated to the table and started to tidy it of his mess.

"Mulder, you didn't answer my question."

"Mac Gyver."

"What?"

"Didn't you ask me once what my favorite TV show was?"

"Uh..." While she tried to context the conversation, he continued to clear the table. "Mulder, that was three years ago on our way to Nevada!"

"Better late than never," he shrugged and grinned maniacally.

"I always had you pegged for being a Trekkie."

"Well, I did have the outfit when I was a kid, but then I thought they ruined the show when Levar Burton came on. So I stopped watching. A show can only go on for so many years before the writing and acting gets to be crappy, you know?"

"I guess." She picked up her mug, which was now lukewarm, but she still drank from it anyway. "My question was about the X-Files. Would you ever come back if Skinner were in charge again?"

He stacked the photos and files into a box. "Can we make it happen?"

She sighed and began to tap her fingernails onto the mug. "I don't know. But I do know that it'd be a lot easier for me...if you came back."

"Mmm...Doggett's testosterone action first and think later than testosterone action doesn't get you off, does it?"

"Upon what do you base that crazed theory?"

"Past experience," he smirked.

She set the mug down and crossed her arms. "Let's just say that he's not an easy person to bounce ideas off of."

"He keeps on dropping the "I get it" ball." Mulder set the box onto a chair, journeyed over to her coat rack, and slipped on his leather jacket. "Hope you don't mind, but I've got to get home and feed the fish. I think Molly might eat Nader tonight if I don't; I noticed her eyeing him suspiciously yesterday."

"You named your new fish after a politician...?"

"Well, he was the runt of the litter, so I'm told."

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"How do you think Jarod got our son back?"

"Dunno, Scully, and frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

"How long have you been waiting to use that one?" she rolled her eyes.

"Since you made me sit through that torture two weeks ago."

"Admit it, you liked Clark Gable."

"Only because he was the only guy with both his balls in the entire film."

She raised a peeved eyebrow, and he took that moment to open her door.

"Next week, my dear pookie, Arnold Schwartzenegger will grace the silver screen," Mulder tried his best to mimic Clark Gable's accent, but it ended up sounding like a bad Mel Brooks imitation instead.

She snickered aphoristically through her nose and lifted her hand up for him to kiss. "You're too kind, poopyhead."

"Scully, what's this?" He was just about to appease her when he observed a rather familiar ring resting upon her fourth finger. "But...I thought you weren't going to...I mean you said-"

"That was before I got a _really_ good look at it and think about us."

"Yeah?"

"If it's all right with you, I'd like to keep it."

"Nothing would make me happier."

"I still feel the same about suicide, but I realize that I was wrong about the ring. It belonged to your mother, yes, but, now it belongs to you, and I..."

"Yes?"

She was yearning to say something more, but fear took hold of her once again. "I just wanted to thank you for being so kind."

"You're welcome." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the crown of her forehead. When they finished, they rested against one another's brow.

"Hey, Mulder?" Her sultry voice came back.

"What?"

"Did you ever mention something about a twelve minute encounter?"

"Maybe." His stomach did a flip.

"You know, Jack and I had a record of about ten."

"And where did this take place?"

She ignored him. "I was thinking about trying to break it sometime..."

His palms became a little bit sweaty now, and he could swear that their foreheads were getting very warm now.

"But, you do have to feed your fish," she finished and gave him a wanton smile.

"I'll buy new ones tomorrow," he breathed, pushed her back into her apartment, and slammed the door shut.

THE END


End file.
